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A 


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■so   "^^     H^B 

1^  1^    12.2 


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Phot 
Sciences 
Corporation 


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23  WIST  MAir<  STRHT 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  MSSO 

(716)873-4S03 


CIHM/ICMH 

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iilustrent  la  mAthode. 


ata 


Blure, 
A 


3 


32X 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

POEMS 


«Y 


SULLIVAN  C.  KIMBALL. 


ALBANY: 
J,  MUNSELL,  78  STATE  STREET. 

1858. 


mmmm''^^ 


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I 

( 


POEMS 


BY 


SULLIVAN  C.  KIMBALL. 


ALBANY: 

J.  MUNSELL,  78  STATE  STREET. 

1858. 


o  o 


Eutered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1858, 

BY  JOHir  M.   KIMBALL, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  fop  the  Northern  Dietrict 

of  New  York. 


I  INSCRIBE  THIS  VOLUME 


TO  MY  FRIEND, 


WILLIAM    J.    GEARON, 


AS    A    MARK    OF    RESPECT 


FOR  HIS  VIRTUES 


AND  LOVE  OF  LITERATURE. 


S*    C*    K* 


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o 


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TO  THE  READER. 


It  may  seem  an  audacious  and  unwise  step,  for  one 
stai  in  his  teens,  to  present  to  the  public  a  volume  of 
poems  written  impromptu  and  sent  to  the  press  almost 
without  a  correction.  I  confess  to  have  not  very  delibe- 
rately considered  the  result  of  the  affair.  But  little 
more  than  a  month  ago,  I  first  conceived  the  idea  of 
writing  enough,  with  the  few  poems  which  1  had  before 
composed,  to  make  a  small  book.  Ten  minutes  decided 
the  plan,  and  one  month  has  executed  the  work.  The 
cogent  reasons  which  induced  me  to  undertake  such  a 
task,  I  think  are  sufficient,  though  not  of  interest  to  the 
reader.  I  would  have  been  pleased  if  some  scholar  could 
have  examined  the  pieces  before  they  had  been  pub- 
lished, but  my  humble  circumstances  prevented  it.  If 
errors  should  be  found,  as  doubtless  some  will,  I  can 
only  beg  the  reader  to  pass  over  them  as  lightly  as  pos- 


'■% 


-wmw       I  J    •ip"iiii  II  1 


r^'^^m^ftf 


!    !■ 


VI 


To  the  Reader. 


fiible,  consideriDg  that  they  were  committed  by  a  boy, 
the  greater  part  of  whose  life  has  been  spent  in  manual 
labor.  If  no  merit  shall  appear  in  the  poems,  please  let 
the  book  die  quietly ;  but  if  it  should  afford  either  profit 
or  pleasure  to  the  reader,  it  will  not  be  in  vain  that  I 
have  written.  SULLIVAN  C.  KIMBALL. 

Albany,  February  1st,  1858. 


t  ^f 


I, 


\- 


by  a  boy, 
n  manual 
please  let 
her  profit 
lin  that  I 

:ball. 


CONTENTS. 


An  Indian  Story, 1 

To  the  Hudson, 6 

The  Slave, 8 

John  Stark, 12 

New  Year, 16 

Our  Country's  Change, 17 

Winter, 19 

Think  of  the  Poor, 20 

Battle  of  Thermopylae, 21 

The  Crow, 24 

Sunset, 26 

The  Trio's  Advice, 27 

Spring, 32 

Iceland, 33 

Nature, 36 

The  Laborer, 37 

A  Summer  Morning, 38 

Fourth  of  July, 39 

A  Home, 40 

Lines  Written  to  a  City  Friend, 41 

A  Friend, 43 

A  Rolling  Stone  Gathers  no  Moss, 44 

Old  Year,  (1857.) :...  45 

To  the  Contoocook, 4$ 

The  Temperance  Cause, 49 

Autumn, 68 


VUl 


Contents. 


1 1 


; : 


if 


n 


n 


The  Contest, 69 

Departure  of  an  Indian  Tribe  Westward 62 

Saint  Patrick, 64 

Do  as  I  do  and  you  are  safe, 82 

One's  Native  Land, ^^ 

A  Winter  Morning, 86 

The  Serpent, « .     87 

Northern  Liglits, 88 

Sunrise, 89 

Our  Faults, . , .' 90 

John  Cummings, 94 

Hope, 98 

A  Husking 99 

»*  Removal  of  the  French  from  Acadia, l^^ 

Surrender  of  William  Walker, l^^ 

Gold, 109 

Amusements, llO 

Animals  in  Winter, 116 

Night, 118 

A  Hymn, 120 

Defeat  of  Moab, 121 

Lines  Written  on  the  Death  of  a  Child, 123 

Psalm  of  David, 124 

Lines  Written  on  the  Death  of  a  Friend,  ,^ 126 

A  Prayer 127 

A  Song  of  Praise, 128 

Nathan  Reproveth  David, 129 

Lines  Written  on  the  Death  of  Henry  Clay, 131 


59 

62 

64 

82 

84 

86 

87 

88 

89 

90 

94 

98 

99 

100 

105 

109 

HO 

116 

118 

120 

121 

123 

124 

126 

127 

128 

129 

131 


POEMS- 


I 


AN  INDIAN  STORY. 

CANOCH. 

Father,  methinks  strange  dreams  now  fill  thy  mind, 
Of  days,  when  thou  in  prime  of  life  didst  chase, 
The  bounding  roe  through  flowering  vale  and  mead. 
Or  when  the  deadly  strife  raged  fierce  and  hot, 
When  valiant  warriors  slew,  and  then  were  slain. 
Else  why  unconscious  clench  thine  aged  hand? 
Or  makft  those  undimm'd  eyes  so  brightly  flash? 
And  aged  sire,  how  came  thine  ankles  scarr'd  ? 
Those  deep  drawn  circles  round  thy  comely  wrists  ? 
While  yet  thy  memory  fails  thee  not,  nor  speech, 
Tell  me  these  things,  so  strange  and  yet  untold, 
Whether  by  nature  wrought  or  otherwise. 

LOUKTAN. 

My  son,  thou  art  a  man  of  many  years. 

And  snow  white  locks  already  do  appear, 

Upon  thy  head,  once  clad  as  black  as  jet, 

Yet  these  same  furrowed  rings,  you  see,  were  made 

Long  ere  thy  father  had  begotten  thee ; 

When  not  a  spire  in  yonder  valley  rose. 

Where  now  a  score  are  pointing  up  to  God. 

1 


An  Indian  Story. 


•  } 


IN 


! 

i 


k  l[ 


Ah!  then  these  hills  were  clothed  with  countlesi 

flocks, 
These  valleys  covered  now  with  verdant  corn, 
Were  but  the  sylvan  haunts  of  fox  and  deer, 
That  fearless  dwelt  among  the  forest  pines. 
Then  birds  and  beasts  that  God  had  made  for  food, 
Throng'd  every  hill  and  every  woody  vale, 
While  fishes  filPd  each  river,  brook  and  pond, 
Whose  names  the  hunter  now  not  even  knows. 
White  men  at  first  were  very,  very  few. 
And  begg'd  a  narrow  piece  of  land  to  till. 
To  save  their  wives  and  little  ones  from  death ; 
Nor  had  the  red  men  learn'd  to  drive  away 
The  hungry  beggar  from  his  cabin  door; 
So  he  those  strangers  bid  remain  in  peace, 
For  then  there  were  good  lands  enough  for  both. 
But  soon  the  white  men  grew  and  multiplied, 
And  built  strong  forts  of  wood  and  granite  stone, 
The  like  had  Indians  never  seen  before. 
The  use  of  which  they  could  not  even  guess. 
Yet  now  they  know,  and  they  too  late  have  learn'd, 
That  white  men  say  but  mean  another  thing. 
Long,  long  ago,  when  I  was  but  a  boy. 
The  white  men  call'd  a  mttster,  as  they  said. 
When  all  the  youths  assembled  on  a  plain. 
To  fight  in  sport  with  cannons  and  with  guns. 
With  which  they  made  a  roaring  noise  and  smoke, 
But  neither  hit  nor  hurt  each  other,  they. 
The  red  men  also  came  to  view  the  scene. 
Or  if  they  pleased  to  join  the  sportive  throng. 
I  with  m^  gun  and  well  fill'd  powder-horn. 
Along  with  twenty  score  of  forest  braves. 
Did  go,  with  pale-faced  youths  indeed  to  learn. 
To  fire  the  musket  and  with  speed  to  load, 
So  that  in  hunting  Vd  be  more  expert, 


^n  Indian  Story. 


3 


1  counties! ; 


corn, 

eer, 

les. 

de  for  food 

le, 

pond, 

knows. 

II, 

i  death; 

<ray 

ice, 

i  for  both, 
[iplied, 
lite  stone, 

guess, 
ive  learn'd, 
hing. 

said, 
ain, 

h  guns, 
and  smoke, 

3ne, 

hrong. 

lorn, 

es, 

to  learn, 

oad, 


for  let  the  deer  unharm'd  escape  my  sight, 
^e  all  were  taught  to  turn  both  right  and  left, 
ind  what  the  Major  said,  to  do  forthwith, 
^he  red  men  soon  were  station'd  in  a  square, 
Lnd  pale-faced  warriors  placed  on  every  side. 
~^ild  horror  fill'd  each  Indian  hunter's  breast, 
iB  he  beheld  himself  a  prisoner, 
[n  vain  to  think  of  flight;  for  round  us  stood, 

tripple  row  of  bristling  bayonets ; 
[n  vain  to  fight ;  for  powder  was  alone 
he  charge  our  useless  guns  chanced  to  contain, 

^hile  every  musket  that  a  pale-face  held, 

^as  loaded  well  with  powder  and  with  shot 

^ur  guns,  we  then  in  silent  rage  gave  up, 

Lnd  march'd  to  town  before  our  conquerors. 

!*here  we  were  put  in  gloomy  dungeons  dark, 

^'o  wait  our  sentence  and  receive  the  doom, 

>ur  captors  might  for  us  see  fit  to  give. 

'^e  were  commanded  to  be  sold  as  slaves, 

'o  serve  strange  masters  in  a  foreign  land. 

^hen  we  were  put  in  iron  fetters  strong, 

md  manacles  our  wrists  did  closely  join. 

^hus  then,  my  son,  these  circles  deep  were  made, 

Lround  my  wrists  when  I  was  caWd  a  slave ; 

'or  never  did  that  nervous  arm  perform, 

'he  base  and  servile  tasks  of  slavery. 

Tot  weight  of  chains,  nor  dungeon's  gloom, 

'an  make  a  man  a  brute  and  slave  become. 

will  not  tell  thee  what  I  suffered,  when 

ieneath  the  tropic  sun  of  foreign  climes, 

long'd  again  to  see  my  nativeland. 

Lcross  the  boundless  water,  I  had  seen, 

hundred  moons  increase  and  wane, 
before  I  heard  a  kind  and  friendly  word, 
from  one  who  wish'd  to  set  a  bondman  free. 


.An  Indian  Story. 


ill  \ 

!?  'i 


hi! 


;  ^ 


But  when  my  keeper  askM  and  learnM  the  way, 
That  I  by  fraud  and  treachery  was  sold, 
He  said  that  I,  in  peace  again,  should  see, 
The  land  where  I  in  infancy  had  playM. 
The  next  East  wind  that  fill'd  a  spreading  sail, 
Did  drive  the  ship  in  which  I  was  returned, 
To  this  my  ever  lovely  father-land, 
Where  since  in  quiet  I  have  happy  dwelt. 

CANOCH. 

But  father,  what  became  of  all  the  rest. 
Who  like  yourself  by  treaclrery  were  sold, 
To  toil  for  foreign  lord  against  their  will, 
In  vineyards  or  in  mines  beneath  the  ground  ? 
And  what  of  him  who  by  foul  stratagem, 
Perform'd  a  deed  so  base  and  dastardly. 
Against  allies,  who  were  at  perfect  peace. 
With  him  indeed  as  well  as  all  mankind  ? 


«l 


1,  sa 
fiei 
elW 
ppo 
hen 
»vo  1 
rice 


■;  » 


ii 


LOtTKTAN. 

Ah !  very  coldly  tiows  my  chilling  blood. 

As  to  my  mind  you  call  those  sad  events ; 

For  many  years  have  silent  pass'd  away, 

Since  I  have  told  or  heard  these  gloomy  tales. 

Those  captives  all,  who  like  myself  were  sold, 

Spent  many  dismal  nights  and  tedious  days. 

With  fetters  and  with  manacles  weight  down^ 

Or  in  the  stocks  of  loathsome  prisons  bound. 

Yet  after  years  of  cruel  slavery. 

In  which  they  suiferM  brands  and  servile  siripes. 

And  every  torture,  which  a  fiend  invents, 

To  make  the  sinews  of  a  manly  arm, 

Return  a  lucre  that  can  gratify, 

The  selfish  passions  of  a  vile  poltroon, 


An  Indian  Story. 


5 


the  way, 

56, 

ng  sail, 
•n'd, 

Bit. 


[Id, 

II, 
ound  ? 


n, 


ce, 
id? 


ts; 

h 

y  tales, 

re  sold, 

days 

d  down, 

ound. 

le  stripes. 

ts, 


yi,  save  a  few  who  were  by  cruelties 
fierce  oppression  slain,  returned  home, 
e  Major,  who  had  sold  the  Indian  youths, 
pposed  they  all  were  slaves  in  distant  lands; 
hen  on  a  certain  dark  and  cloudy  night 
o  lonely  squaws  rapp*d  at  the  Major's  door, 
ice  seven  years  had  come  and  gone  again, 
noe  he  had  call'd  the  muster  of  the  youths, 
hich  turn'd  to  him  for  glory,  but  to  them, 
source  of  passing  grief,  and  woe  untold; 
e  Major  rose  and  ope'd  the  grating  door, 
hich  massive  swung  between  the  walls  of  stone, 
d  bade  the  squaws  to  enter  in  his  house, 
warm   themselves  and    tell  the  news    they'd 
brought 
im  from  his  forest  brothers  ever  true, 
hey  told  him  all  was  well,  and  ask'd  him  what, 
full  five  hundred  Indians  came  that  night, 
n  aged  man  like  him  could  do  alone? 
e  not  afraid,"  the  boasting  Major  said, 
**|The  wavg  of  that  right  arm  shall  bring  to  hand, 
4  hundred  men  as  brave  as  breathe  the  air, 
flpo  let  your  sleep  be  calm  and  sound  to-night." 
■fhen  all  retired  as  they  were  wont  to  do, 
^  nd  soon  deep  sleep  enshrouds  them  all  save  two, 
he  squaws  indeed,  who  silently  arose, 
hen  with  a  noiseless  hand  unbarr'd  the  door, 
nd  gave  a  whistle  shrill  and  full  well  known, 
b  those  who  waited  for  the  appointed  hour, 
b  take  the  Major  and  his  garrison, 
rush  the  very  band  of  warriors,  who, 
t  muster  train'd  just  fourteen  years  before; 
hey  seize  the  Major  now  infirm'd  with  years, 
nd  on  the  parlor  table  place  him,  while, 
is  hoarded  gold  is  scatter'd  on  the  floor, 


Ui. 


6 


The  Hudson, 


'<\\ 


• 


liiii 


ii 


c;E; 


To  be  the  prize  of  him,  who  first  could  pick 
The  shining  dollars  as  they  roll  around. 
When  they  the  spoils  had  divided  thus, 
They  ask'd  the  Major  if  he  knew  the  day, 
When  they  together  all,  had  met  to  train, 
And  then  each  one,  across  the  old  man's  flesh. 
Drew  twice  his  knife  and  passing  as  he  said: 
'*  Thus  my  accounts  I  now  cross  out  with  thee.'^ 


TO  THE  HUDSON. 

Come  tell  to  me,  thou  wand'rer, 
Thou  symbol  so  sublime. 

Of  men  and  nations  passing, 
Of  swiftly  flying  time. 

How  long  hast  thou  been  rolling 
Thine  amber  tides  along? 

The  prattling  child,  the  old  man 
United  ask — How  long'} 

Dost  thou  well  remember  when 
Thy  grassy  banks  were  green, 

Erst  thou  the  towering  oak. 
Or  lofty  pine  had  seen  ? 

And  canst  thou  now  remember, 
The  painted  chieftain,  who 

First  paddled  o''er  thy  bosom 
The  birchen  bark  canoe  ? 


The  Hudson. 


\  pick 

I* 

in, 

's  flesh, 
said: 
ith  thee.'* 


If  thou  wilt  tell  us  these  things, 
And  light  our  darken'd  mind, 

Our  highest  admiration 
Thou  shah  forever  find* 

Ah !  stranger,  thou  dost  ask  me 
What  heaven  hath  conceaPd, 

What  thy  fathers  tell  thee  not, 
And  books  have  not  reveal'd. 

I  would  I  were  permitted 
To  tell  thee  what  was  seen, 

When  first  I  laved  the  dry  ground 
The  new  made  fields  between. 

When  the  primeval  forests 
First  sprung  up  by  degrees. 

And  when  the  feather'd  songsters 
First  dwelt  among  the  trees. 

Long  ere  the  dauntless  Hudson 
Gave  me  his  honor'd  name, 

By  which,  to  distant  ages, 
He'll  hand  his  spotless  fame. 

A  truth  I  tell  thee  stranger. 
That  God,  who  bid  me  flow. 

Hast  told  thee  by  tradition 
All  that  'tis  right  to  know. 


1 


■.''f 


8 


The  Slave. 


THE  SLAVE. 

A  throng  of  men,  assembled,  scan 

The  crowded  market  way, 
No  work  is  done  in  New  Orleans, 

An  auction's  there  to-day. 
A  ship  of  Africans  has  come. 

The  sale  begins  at  one. 
Which  is  to  cheer  or  grieve  the  heart 

Of  many  a  sable  son. 


Among  the  crowd  of  slaves  that  stand 

The  auction  block  around, 
A  Chieftain's  there  of  royal  blood 

Now  gazing  on  the  ground ; 
His  noble  look  and  kingly  air 

Attract  the  viewer's  eye. 
While  each  resolves,  perchance  he  can, 

The  princely  slave  to  buy. 


i  ! 


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A  merchant  comes  among  the  crowd. 

In  wealth  without  a  peer, 
Who  often  buys  without  regard 

To  prices  cheap  or  dear ; 
The  conquer'd  Chieftain  mounts  the  stand, 

Bid  after  bid  they  gave. 
Until  the  surly  salesman  said, 

"  He  is  the  merchant's  slave." 


The  Slave. 


9 


The  merchant  gazed  upon  the  Chief 

And  ask'd  him  whence  he  came, 
And  what  might  be  his  parentage, 

Also  his  father's  name. 
For  in  his  face  he  thought  he  saw  r 

A  look  he'd  seen  before, 
He  knew  not  on  what  distant  isle. 

Or  on  what  foreign  shore. 

The  Prince  replied :  "  Thou  art  my  lord, 

I  am  a  Christian's  slave. 
My  father  reigns  in  Barbary, ' 

His  faithful  clan  and  brave ; 
The  name  of  Lion  King  he  bears, 

A  terror  to  his  foe, 
A  true  and  faithful  friend  is  he, 

As  all  his  allies  know. 

"  Once  when  the  winds  blew  fierce  and  rou^h, 

Across  the  sea  and  moor, 
A  merchantman  was  broken  up 

Just  off  Sahara's  shore; 
The  crew  escaped  a  watery  grave 

By  swimming  to  the  land. 
To  die  of  thirst  and  hunger  there, 

Upon  the  desert  sand. 

"  My  father  with  his  trusty  band 

Of  mounted  warriors  brave, 
Who  fear'd  not  men  of  mortal  race 

Nor  terrors  of  the  grave. 
By  chance  did  meet  these  wandererf 

Oppress'd  by  hunger  sore. 
Not  having  tasted  food  or  drink 

For  full  eight  days  and  more. 


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I  iii, 


10 


The  Slave, 


*^  He  told  those  friendless,  starving  men 

His  bread  they  all  should  share, 
And  for  their  life  and  happiness  a 

His  faithful  band  would  care, 
TTntil  a  ship  should  chance  to  come 

Along  that  desert  strand, 
In  which  they  might  embark  again 

For  their  dear  father-land. 

"  Or,  if  it  pleased  th'  unlucky  crew 

To  go  away  before, 
A  trusty  band  of  warriors  should 

Attend  them  to  the  shore, 
Where  foreign  vessels  always  touch 

Upon  a  certain  day, 
And  thus  they  might  in  peace  depart 

To  North  America. 

''  My  father  gave  to  me  the  charge 

With  fifty  chosen  men,    . 
I  led  them  to  the  nearest  port 

In  seven  days  and  ten ; 
And  that's  the  last  I  ever  saw 

Or  heard  of  that  sad  crew ; 
But  one  of  them — Oh,  can  it  bef 

LookM  very  like  to  you." 

The  merchant  fell  upon  his  knees 

Before  his  new-bought  slave. 
And  freedom,  as  he  wept  for  joy. 

Unto  the  Prince  he  gave ; 
While  pardon  for  his  countrymen 

In  grief  he  did  implore : 
'*  How  could  a  Christian  people  steal 

A  prince  from  Afric's  shore?" 


The  Slave. 


11 


*^Thou  shalt  a  brother  dwell  with  me, 

Or  if  it  doth  thee  please, 
A  ship  of  mine  shall  bear  thee  home 

Where  streams  and  hearts  ne'er  freeze, 
But  where  the  orange  and  the  date 

Among  the  spices  grow, 
And  gold  dust  glitters  on  the  plains 

Instead  of  ice  and  snow." 

The  Prince  replied,  '*I  pardon  all 

The  wrongs  they've  done  to  me. 
But  freedom  for  my  brother  slaves 

I  can  but  long  to  see; 
And  while  hot  blood  shall  course  these  veins, 

Until  the  day  I  die. 
To  see  my  kinsmen  all  set  free 

This  faithful  heart  will  sigh. 

"  I  long  to  see  my  native  land. 

The  place  where  I  was  born ; 
I  love  it  better  than  your  own. 

So  rich  in  crops  of  corn. 
Just  so  did  you  my  father-land 

Behold  with  light  esteem. 
When  borne  away  to  cotton-fields. 

In  many  a  homesick  dream." 

The  Prince  then  sail'd  across  the  sea 

To  meet  his  cherish'd  band, 
Despising  Southern  rice-swamps 

Beside  his  native  land; 
But  sad  was  he  to  leave  behind, 

In  manacles  and  chains. 
Three  millions  of  his  fellow  men, 

To  toil  for  others'  gains. 


,     .»! 


f 


ft   11 


12 


John  Stark. 


Mti 


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iiiif 


JOHN  STARK. 

There  was  n  time  when  Grecian  bards  could  sing 

The  noble  deeds  of  hero,  god  and  king, 

And  with  the  Lesbian  lyre  pleased  to  tell, 

How  great  Achilles  bravely  fonght  and  fell. 

Nor  then  did  Helicon's  least  son  repine, 

Inspired  not  by  smiles  of  the  gracious  Nine. 

Then  may  a  lover  of  the  muse  recite. 

The  famous  deeds  of  a  Londonderry  wight, 

In  whose  veins  coursed  old  Scotland's  nohlest  blood, 

Whence  came  his  ancestors  across  the  flood, 

To  plant  a  city  in  the  Western  wild. 

Where  they  might  dwell  beneath  the  scepter  mild 

Of  Liberty.    John  Stark,  a  hunter  true 

Went  out  (as  pioneers  are  wont  to  do) 

With  a  keen  rifle  and  a  faithful  guide, 

To  thread  the  gloomy  forest  far  and  wide. 

In  quest  of  shrewd  fox  and  swift- footed  roe. 

That  shyly  shunn'd  the  Indian  lance  and  bow. 

Not  many  furlongs  from  that  woodgirt  vill. 

Through  &  dense  thicket  flows  a  gurgling  rill, 

Hard  by,  beneath  the  bows  of  a  hemlock  tree, 

Lay  a  scout  of  the  wild  Abenaqui. 

A  savage  warwhoop  rends  the  morning  breeze, 

As  dusky  forms  dart  from  among  the  trees, 

And  by  a  sudden  contest  fierce  but  short. 

Stark  and  his  friend  obtain  a  new  escort. 

O'er  hills  and  through  vales,  by  day  and  by  night, 

The  stern  Abenaqui  urge  on  their  flight. 

Now  when  they  to  their  distant  nation  came, 


John  Stark. 


1:3 


Their  captives  they  ehow  and  talk  of  their  famei 

While  praising  them,  the  captors  grim  suggest, 

The  race  of  gantlet  as  one  of  the  best, 

Their  speed  to  try.     Long  lines  of  youth  prepare, 

Not  to  behohl  but  in  the  sport  to  share. 

Stark's  hot  blood  boils,  hia  faithful  friend  to  save. 

While  he  forgets  he  is  himself  a  slave. 

He  tnkes  a  club  and  fells  the  dark  throng, 

He  runs  the  gantlet  but  free  from  the  thong; 

The  chiefs  raise  shoutings,  right  glad  to  behold, 

One  that  was  valiant  and  one  that  was  bold, 

Yet  to  enhance  their  sport  and  end  the  show. 

They  tell  the  prisoner,  their  corn  he  must  hoe. 

The  dauntless  slave  beneath  their  sullen  gaze. 

Leaving  the  weeds,  with  zeal  cuts  up  the  maize. 

All  vote  as  one  man  when  this  they  did  see 

To  make  Stark  chieftain  of  th'  Abenaqui. 

Amazed  was  each  one  in  that  counsel  ring. 

To  hear  a  slave  refuse  to  be  their  king. 

Soon  for  a  price  their  prisoners  they  sold. 

Calling  each  one  five  hundred  franks  in  gold. 

Stark  quitted  with  joy  his  Canadian  home 

And  in  three  days  to  Derryfield  he  came. 

To  his  old  saw  mill,  he  once  more  returns 

And  by  his  own  hands,  his  bread  daily  earns, 

Happy  to  lead  a  quiet  miller's  life. 

Free  from  the  dangers  and  hardships  of  strife. 

Now  border  warfare  was  brought  to  a  close. 

While  peace  and  plenty  crown'd  the  sweet  repose. 

When  lo!  a  tyrant  great  proclaims  afar 

To  all  who  dwell  io  North  America, 

That  they  must  give  way  to  what  he  thinks  best, 

Nor  fail  in  doing  what  he  may  request. 

Great  king  George  finding  his  proud  threats  in  vain 

Does  his  fierce  anger  in  nowise  restrain, 


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14 


John  Stark. 


But  sends  his  minions  vile  to  rob  and  slay 
All  those  who  had  denied  his  savage  sway, 
Stark  calls  his  townsmen  their  homes  to  defend, 
And  not  beneath  a  yoke  their  free  necks  bend. 

On  Bunker's  hill  no  patriot  was  there, 
hi  dangers  and  hardships  more  free  to  share, 
Than  he  who  ere  in  Indian  wars  had  won 
A  name  as  bright  as  Telaraon's  brave  son. 
At  Trenton,  Stark  did  battle  on  the  field, 
Where  then  the  redcoats'  doom  was  firmly  seal'd, 
Again  at  Princeton,  he  won  in  the  fight, 
And  gave  his  country  fresh  hope  and  delight; 
Nor  did  the  fluttering  Eaglet  safely  soar, 
Free  from  the  grim  sound  of  fierce  Lion's  roar. 
While  paltry  Hessians,  Vandal  like  descend. 
The  cause  of  King  George  for  gold  to  defend, 
The  yeomen  rise  up  once  more  to  declare, 
The  yoke  of  slaves  they'll  never  deign  to  bear. 
Each  his  knapsack  around  himself  then  girds 
As  brave^ Stark  utters  these  undying  words: 
•*  Those  redcoats  yonder,  ere  the  evening  shadow. 
Must  be  ours,  boys,  or  Molly  Stark's  a  widow." 
Shouts  thrice  repeated  echo  then  afar, 
While  the  door  of  the  morning  smiles  ajar. 
The  Hessians  and  Tories  yield  the  day, 
Nor  would  they  stand  to  be  shot  at  for  pay. 
Stark  served  his  country  till  the  contest  closed. 
With  Freedom's  triumph  and  death  to  her  foes. 
But  should  we  wait  each  famous  deed  to  tell. 
Our  humble  lay  would  to  a  volume  swell. 
Then  let's  remember  with  profound  delight, 
The  man  of  nerve,  the  general  of  might. 
And  in  all  coming  time  his  praise  shall  rise, 
From  those  who  may  admire  the  great  and  wi?e. 


JVew  Year. 


15 


NEW  YEAR. 

Hail!  happy  day  returning, 
Thou  leader  of  the  year, 
f^To  gladden  all  thy  children 
And  those  that  weep  to,  cheer. 

Like  to  the  weaver's  shuttle, 
Thy  visit  thou  dost  make, 

And  did  not  Sun  and  Moon  count, 
Thy  comings  we'd  mistake. 

Let  thy  propitious  advent 
The  sons  of  men  advise, 

To  watch  the  proffer'd  blessing 
That  in  the  future  lies. 

Ye  faint  hearts  learn,  by  ceasing 

To  worry  and  to  fret. 
That  fish  as  good  are  swimming 

As  ever  fili'd  a  net ; 

That  birds  as  rare  are  flying 

As  ever  SStickney  shot; 
That  fields  are  left  for  ploughing. 

Like  Adam's  famous  lot ; 

That  bears  as  fat  are  loafing 

In  many  shady  dales. 
As  ever  felt  the  tickling 

Of  Crockett's  well  pared  nails; 


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16 


J\rew  Year. 

That  deer  as  fine  are  crouching 
Beneath  the  forest  tree, 

As  ever  lined  the  ladder 
Of  th'  wild  Abenaqui; 

That  suns  as  bright  for  shining 
Are  yet  to  rise  and  set, 

As  ever  shone  at  Tibur, 
Or  dried  a  fisher's  net. 

Teach  men  to  woo  contentment, 
That  balm  of  every  bane, 

Without  which  endless  pleasure 
Becomes  perpetual  pain. 

Teach  him  to  cherish  virtue. 
And  love  for  all  mankind; 

For  by  our  loving  others, 
We  love  alone  can  find. 

We  welcome  all  thy  teachings, 
Thou  harbinger  of  truth ; 

Instructor  of  our  old  age 
And  teacher  of  our  youth. 

We  welcome  thee,  dispeller 
Of  every  grief  and  fear. 

Thou  parent  of  our  happy. 
Our  happiest  New  Year. 


In 


Our  Country^ s  Change, 


17 


OUR  COUNTRY'S  CHANGE. 

In  days  of  yore  our  worthy  fathers  did 

Such  noble  deeds  in  this  Republic,  that 

The  world  declared  no  land  could  then  produce 

More  heroes  than  our  own  America. 

Men  fear'd  disgrace,  which  comes  from  evil  deeds 

Or  treachery,  the  worst  of  mortal  crimes; 

Nor  dared  the  office  holder  to  despise 

The  people,  in  whose  hands  the  country  is. 

So  'twas  when   brave  John   Paulding,   with  two 

friends, 
Disdeign'd  to  trifle  with  the  sacred  trust 
Committed  to  their  hands  in  time  of  war; 
Nor  could  an  insult  greater  then  be  known 
Than  for  a  foe  of  human  liberty 
To  try  to  bribe  a  sterling  patriot. 
So  'twas  when  Washington,  the  great  and  good, 
Gave  to  the  people  what  they  e*er  had  own'd, 
What  tyrants  wrested  from  them — Liberty. 
So  'twas  when  Jackson  quell'd  the  nullifying  clique 
Which  set  at  nought  the  nation's  chosen  laws, 
And  bid  defiance  to  the  peoi)le's  will; 
His  name  stands  forth  in  bold  relief  as  one, 
Who  for  his  country's  weal  could  sacrifice 
That  fleeting  bubble — Popularity. 
But  now,  alas!  what  sort  of  men  command 
The  mighty  ship  of  this  great  commonwealth? 
Do  men  of  virtue  represent  the  bar 
Of  justice,  where  the  rich  and  poor  alike, 
The  humblest  beggar  and  the  proudest  lord, 

2 


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18 


Our  Country^s  Change. 


Should  stand  to  get  with  speed  their  true  deserts? 

Do  men  of  talent  and  integrity 

Go  forth  to  make  the  people  equal  laws? 

Or  do  the  drunken  and  the  profligate 

Receive  preferment  at  the  people's  hands? 

What  spot  within  this  wide  extended  land 

Is  so  corrupted  and  disgraced  by  crime 

As  that  great  city  named  for  Washington  ? 

There  bloody  and  debasing  deeds  abound, 

That  might  well  make  the  wildest  heathen  blush, 

If  in  his  nation  they  had  e'er  occurrM. 

There  bribes  indeed  are  tendered  and  received 

For  votes  on  questions,  greater  than  the  which 

Can  not  before  a  mighty  nation  come ; 

Like  votes  were  but  a  thing  of  merchandise 

A  banker^s  bill  e'en,  or  a  note  of  hand. 

Thus  men,  engaged  in  making  rules  that  are 

To  be  the  laws  of  millions  yet  unborn. 

Act  with  regard  as  little  as  would  boys. 

Who  wieh'd  to  build  a  snow  fort  for  the  day. 

They  heed  not  now  the  great  examples  set 

By  men  of  stern  and  simple  habits,  who 

Watch'd  o'er  with  zeal  their  cherish'd  country's 

good, 
Unmindful  of  all  personal  concerns. 
The  People  must  in  majesty  arise 
And  drive  each  **  loafer  "  from  the  public  crib) 
Then  will  the  nation,  purged  from  vices,  stand 
Approved  before  the  people  and  their  God. 


Winter. 


19 


WINTER. 

Stern  Winter  comes,  now  knocking, 
Now  knocking  at  our  door. 

We  hear  his  wonted  whistle, 
We  hear  his  sullen  roar. 

We  would  not  put  thee  off,  friend, 
No  longer  have  thee  wait, 

Lest  thy  delay  should  alter 
The  faultless  ways  of  Fate. 

We  welcome  thee  to  teach  us 
The  varying  course  of  life ; 

How  when  in  ease  and  quie^ 
To  look  for  wars  and  strife. 

Since  every  virtue  preludes 

A  corresponding  vice ; 
So  may  the  fall  of  nations 

Be  shadow'd  at  their  rise. 

Welcome,  thou  hoary  teacher, 
To  tell  by  thine  own  gloom, 

How  all  in  youth  and  beauty 
Are  hastening  to  the  tomb. 


I 


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20 


Think  of  the  Poor. 


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■  'M 


THINK  OF  THE  POOR. 

When  the  cold  winds  howl  around 
And  snow  conceals  the  frozen  ground, 

Think  of  the  poor, 

Whom  hunger  sore 
Oppresses  with  a  deadly  grasp. 

When  seated  round  the  bounteous  board 
Which  opulence  may  well  afford, 

Think  of  the  poor. 

Whose  scanty  store 
Is  scarce  enough  to  nourish  life. 

When  clothed  in  garments  finely  wrought. 
E'en  from  a  foreign  country  brought, 

Think  of  the  poor, 

Hard  by  your  door. 
Whose  forms  old  rags  but  half  conceal. 

When  seated  near  your  blazing  fire 
Or  list'ning  to  the  tuneful  lyre, 

Think  of  the  poor. 

Who  from  the  moor 
Can  listen  to  but  howling  winds. 

While  in  the  land  they  may  remain, 
Let  every  citizen  and  swain 

Think  of  the  poor, 

The  worthy  poor, 
Who  need  a  brother's  helping  hand. 


Battle  of  Thermopyla. 


21 


ht, 


BATTLE  OF  THERMOPYLAE. 

Now  Xerxes,  king  of  Persia  proud, 

Muster'd  a  mighty  host; 
To  exterminate  the  valiant  Greeks 

He  made  his  luckless  hoast. 

Not  to  avenge  an  injury, 

But  to  extend  his  sway, 
And  make  the  bravest  of  the  brave 

Tribute  and  homage  pay. 

When  he  led  from  his  Eastern  realm 
Two  million  men  and  more, 

The  mightiest  nations  trembled  then 
As  ne'er  they'd  done  before. 

All  hearts  grew  faint  before  the  king 
And'quickly  bow'd  each  knee, 

Until  he  met  the  Spartan  braves 
At  the  pass,  Thermopylse. 

Leonidas  had  mustered. 
And  led  his  Spartan  band 

Against  th'  invading  enemy 
To  guard  his  father-land. 

From  such  as  might  have  living  sons 
T'  immortalize  their  name. 

He  chose  three  hundred  yeomanry, 
Like  patriots  they  came. 


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22  JSo^tfe  of  Thermopyla. 

When,  that  an  army,  Xerxes  heard, 

Was  coming  to  contend. 
To  learn  their  number  and  their  name 

He  faithful  spies  did  send. 

The  spies  unnoticed  learn  with  ease 
Whatever  they  would  know^ 

And  to  declare  a  full  report 
To  Xerxes  they  did  go. 

The  king  pronounced  it  folly  great 

For  them  so  few  to  stay, 
And  waited  full  three  days  and  mere 

To  see  them  run  away. 

To  the  proud  king's  astonishment, 
They  quitted  not  their  post, 

But  waited  for  opposing  him 
E'en  with  his  mighty  host. 

Xerxes  enraged  with  fury  great 
Commands  the  Medes  to  place 

Th'  insulting  puny  Spartan  band 
Before  him  face  to  face. 

The  Medic  army  rushes  bold 
T'  obey  the  king's  commands, 

Its  number  most  resembled  there. 
The  countless  sea-shore  sands. 

The  Spartan  band  of  heroes  brave. 
With  sabers  long  and  bright. 

Mow  down  th'  advancing  columns  quick. 
Or  scatter  them  in  flight 


'Tr 


Battle  of  Thermopylae. 

The  king  then  sent  his  body  cuards 
To  succor  them  with  speed, 

And  on  the  bold  *'  immortal  troops  ^ 
Hydarnes  quick  did  lead. 

But  they  were  roughly  handled  too 
And  in  flight  quickly  sown, 

While  Xerxes  king,  in  terror  great 
Twice  leap'd  up  off  his  throne. 

The  king  was  greatly  troubled  then 
And  knew  not  what  to  do, 

For  the  Spartan  braves  repulsed  him 
And  many  brave  men  slew. 

Now,  a  Trachinian  poltroon 

(Cpialtes  was  his  name), 
Made  known  to  him  another  pass 

And  pointed  out  the  same. 

(Woe  to  the  brute  in  human  form, 
Who  but  for  gold  dust  sand, 

Betrays  to  foreign  tyranny 
His  lovely  father-land.) 

Hydarnes,  then  the  king  commands. 
With  a  traitor  for  his  guide. 

To  cross  the  lofly  mountain  there 
Toward  the  southern  side. 

Hydarnes  finds  the  Spartan  band, 
Unmoved  as  he  draws  nigh. 

Determined  to  protect  their  homes 
And  like  brave  men  to  die. 


83 


I"'. 


%'j 


m 


!'f 


24 


The  Crow. 


I      ■: 


i 


i   :   i 


i 

.  1  ■ 


nm^ 


Their  spears  already  broken  up 

And  bathed  in  royal  gore, 
They  rallied  round  Leonidas 

For  once  but  never  more. 

Forward  they  rush  with  sword  in  hand 
To  meet  the  welcomed  grave, 

For  joy  they  thought  it  there  to  die 
Their  father-land  to  save. 

The  contest  closed,  the  deed  was  done. 
Not  a  Spartan  soul  was  there, 

Their  bodies  were  upon  the  ground, 
Their  spirits  in  the  air. 

Thrice  blessed  are  the  mothers,  who 

To  heroes  such,  gave  birth ; 
Oh !  where  is  valor  in  the  land  ? 

Such  courage  on  the  earth  ? 

Thrice  honored  is  the  nation  brave 

To  which  they  do  belong, 
Their  names  shall  live  in  history, 

Their  deeds  in  epic  song. 


i 


5 

1 


ifrf 


r?.- 


THE  CROW. 

Ye  poets,  sing  the  dove. 
The  sleepless  nightingale. 

The  bobolink  and  lark 
And  e'en  the  drumming  quail. 


I' 

I  hi    I 


The  Crow. 


25 


But  sine:  ye  in  sunshine, 
For  e'er  the  north  winds  blow, 

Your  beauties  fly  from  you 
And  southerly  they  go. 

Departing  they  leave  you 
Through  winter  all  alone, 

Their  beauty  bright  to  sing, 
And  their  long  absence  moan. 

Like  friends  who  in  success 
Quite  numberless  abound, 

When  persecutions  rise 
Not  one  is  to  be  found. 

Through  Winter's  cold  and  gloom 
Of  beating  hail  and  snow. 

Among  the  green  pine  tops 
Sits  e'er  the  dauntless  Crow. 

In  spite  of  all  your  scorn 

United  with  your  law. 
That  sable  bird  stays  here 

And  greets  you  with  a  "  caw.** 

Put  up  all  your  scarecrows 
And  do  the  best  you  can, 

The  Crow  will  "  caw"  at  you 
Not  noticing  your  ban. 


F 


(    7' 

IS 


^4 


26 


Sunset. 


* 


iii 


f 


%  i" 


i:; 


* 


m     i 


n 


SUNSET. 

The  day  is  far  spent. 
The  sun  is  low  down, 

The  brow  of  the  evening 
Will  soon  don  its  crown. 

Just  look  o'er  yon  mount, 
Its  half  phase  is  seen, 

Slowly  now  hiding 
Its  face  clear  and  sheen. 

The  shadows  now  fly 
With  speed  of  the  fawn. 

And  in  the  distance 
They  soon  will  be  gone. 

From  yon  horizon 
The  bright  sun  is  fled, 

Tho  west  is  now  deck-d 
With  crimson  and  red. 

The  monarch  of  light 
Departs  on  his  way, 

With  promise  to  give 
To  us  a  new  day. 


!:     * 


The  Triors  Advict. 


«7 


THE  TRIO'S  ADVICE. 

[*d  often  heard  it  gravely  said, 
Lnd  e'en  the  same  thing  I  had  read, 
^hat  boys  must  take  wise  men's  advice, 
if  they  would  in  true  knowledge  rise, 
>  if  they  free  from  troubles  sore, 
^ould  pass  life's  devious  journey  o'er, 
fow  I  desirous  was  to  learn, 
Vuth  from  falsehood  to  discern, 
Ls  also  certainly  to  know, 
^hether  this  thing  was  not  or  so; 
[And  to  prevent  the  least  mistake, 
ll  three  experiments  di'J  make. 
JThe  labor  was  by  no  means  small, 
lYet  I  will  now  record  it  all, 
To  save  each  one  the  same  hard  task, 
Who  would  desire  advice  to  ask 
Of  those  most  wise  and  sagely  men. 
Who  wield  the  shovel  or  the  pen. 

[Upon  a  lovely  Summer  morn, 
1 1  met  a  farmer  hoeing  corn ; 
With  ruddy  cheeks  and  brawny  arm, 
I  He  loved  to  till  his  fertile  farm ; 
Four  stalwart  boys,  a  blooming  wife, 
To  make  complete  the  joys  of  life. 
Were  his,  with  all  that  he  admired. 
No  better  fortune  he  desired. 
Than  on  his  flocks  and  herds  to  gaze 
And  till  his  fields  of  verdant  maize. 


•.'■.V 
I    .1' 


# 


M 


it 


■  ^' 


J   1 


.^J:'f 


I  r:;); 


5 


41  n 


\'^. 


i! 


;  i 


28 


The  Triors  Advice. 


I  asked  him  how  that  men  should  live  ? 
If  he  would  dei^n  advice  to  give, 
E'en  so  that  I  might  comprehend 
On  what  the  joys  of  life  depend. 
Now  with  a  look,  a  little  wry, 
He  closed  tight  his  left  grey  eye, 
And  slightly  raising  up  his  head, 
Me  answering,  he  thus  then  said: 

"  I've  studied  long  and  learned  well  my  boy, 

To  know  the  spring  of  every  woe  and  joy. 

Yet  I'm  aware  that  some  think  men  are  fools, 

Who  have  not  been  brought  up  in  noted  schools, 

To  learn  by  rule  each  cunning  subtile  trick 

And  that  strange  art  which  they  call  rhetoric, 

By  which  they  tell  not  briefly  what  they'd  say, 

But  in  a  circuitous  and  mystic  way; 

Than  thus,  an  orator  had  better  speak 

In  Choctaw  language  or  in  Greek. 

I've  learn'd  to  tell  rner  better  by  their  looks, 

Than  by  their  speeches,  or  their  polish'd  books, 

So  better  far  I  know  when  deeds  declare. 

Than  words,  ere  cull'd  with  most  assiduous  care. 

Would  you  live  happy  from  this  very  day, 

Spend  not  your  time  in  vanity  and  play; 

Nor  fare  upon  too  rich  and  dainty  food. 

Lest  o'er  thy  form  by  night  fierce  vultures  brood, 

Or  while  you're  scanning  sights  mysterious, 

You  fall  deep  down  in  direiul  Tartarus; 

But  let  employment  occupy  your  days, 

With  simple  meals,  end  corresponding  ways; 

Then  ev'ry  joy  you  surely  may  possess 

And  happiness  your  future  days  shall  bless." 

This  then  the  happy  farmer  said. 

And  slightly  bow'd  again  bis  head. 


W 


The  Trio's  Advice. 


29 


boy, 

fools, 

schools, 
ck 

toric, 

dsay, 


books, 
us  care. 

brood, 

m 


thanked  him  for  his  kind  advice, 
Lbove  the  rubies  far  in  price, 
Lnd  left  him  there  to  till  the  ground, 
happier  man  than  ^{l  is  found. 

'he  doctor  next  I  chanced  to  meet, 
^ho  understood  his  art  complete, 
'he  broken  limb  to  amputate, 
'he  system  all  to  regulate; 
[ndeed  great  cures  he'd  often  wrought, 
le'd  healM  the  sick  of  ev'ry  sort. 
leM  also  learn'd  the  way  to  please, 
Ls  well  as  cruel  pains  to  ease, 
lim  I  then  ask'd  the  proper  ways, 
►f  spending  well  c.     ''eeting  days, 
50  that  we  may  not  e'er  repent, 
^hat  we  our  time  have  illy  spent, 
'he  doctor  as  a  moral  guide^ 
'hen  with  a  learned  air  replied : 

r  I  think  it  is  but  right,  young  friend,  to  state, 
[That  I  am  ever  wont  to  medicate 
Each  healing  dose,  that  I  so  oft  prescribe 
To  sickly  patients  of  tine  human  tribe.   . 
Nor  yet  iy  it  to  me  a  given  task, 
[To  answer  questions  such  as  you  now  ask, 
But  1  will  speak  just  as  it  seems  to  me. 
Regarding  not  abstruse  philosophy. 
Be  always  affable  and  as  polite 
To  humble  laborer  and  rustic  wight, 
As  to  the  ostentatious  millionaire. 
Who  lounges  in  his  softly  cushion'd  chair, 
I  Despising  men  as  good,  e'en  as  himself 
I  But  lacking  only  hoarded  heaps  of  pelf. 


I ' 


30 


The  Trio's  Advice. 


:l 


m 


m  *u 


:'l; 


(in 


^#^ 


'F 


4'   'H  t 


tl 


No  man's  opinion  good  or  bad,  dispute, 
Yet  rather  be  considerately  mute, 
Unless  to  you  his  words  by  chance  refer, 
E'en  then  His  better  quiet  to  demur, 
If  reputation  fair  is  not  at  stake; 
But  when  'tis  so,  a  firm  defence  then  make, 
For  wars  and  quarrels  always  bring  such  ills 
That  we  in  vain  administer  our  pills; 
Since  we  have  not  succeeded  yet  to  find 
A  medicine  to  heal  a  wounded  mind. 
Live  by  these  principles  and  similar ; 
Let  Virtue  be  your  constant  guiding  star. 
Then  unto  you  with  years  shall  long  increase 
The  pleasant  fruits  of  harmony  and  peace." 
Thus  did  the  doctor  then  reveal 
His  views  of  gaining  joy  and  weal, 
And  taught  to  shun  the  ills  most  rife. 
Which  take  away  the  bliss  of  life. 

My  legal  friend  did  next  explain 
The  antidote  of  ev'ry  pain, 
Which  as  he  thought  each  one  could  draw 
From  living  scenes  and  books  of  law: 
« I've  often  gain'd  the  guilty  rascal's  cause 
And  saved  him  from  the  vengeance  of  the  laws. 
While  I  have  sometimes  seen  the  innocent 
Receive  the  strokes  of  unjust  punishment* 
Thus  I  have  learn'd  to  try  as  hard  to  save 
The  guilty  loafer  and  the  heartless  knave. 
As  those  who  ne'er  a  wrong  to  any  one 
In  all  their  life  maliciously  have  done. 
Make  this  for  you  a  never  varying  rule, 
In  ev'ry  circumstance  of  life,  keep  cool; 
Fret  not  for  that  you  no  way  can  prevent, 
Bear  calmly  all  that  is  by  Fortuiae  sent. 


m   1     i 


The  Trio'^s  Advice, 


31 


ike  evils  with  an  even  balanced  mind, 

an  escape  you  can  by  no  means  find; 

}ar  not  those  ills  that  yet  are  far  away, 

>r  they  may  vanish  ere  another  day ; 
do  they  come  you  bear  them  once  nor  more 

^hile  if  you  fear,  you  bear  them  ten  times  o'er. 

^hen  Fortune  grants  success,  let  joy  be  great; 
then  yourself,  with  pleasure  freely  sate. 

[njoy  life's  blessings  as  they  come  and  go, 
it  each  to  you  another  one  foreshow. 

fo  pleasing  hope  most  firmly  always  cling, 
the  ^'  smoothe  handle  "  taking  every  thing. 

These  sentiments  with  zealous  mind  retain 

ind  they'll  ensure  you  a  perpetual  gain, 
coupled  with  an  energetic  will 

III  opposition  speedily  to  kill." 

The  lawyer  said;  indeed  as  though 

le  did  these  thing's  most  surely  know; 

^r  by  experience  he  bad  found 

Sach  one  to  be  correct  and  sound. 

:*hus  farmer,  doctor,  lawyer  wise 

)id  me  then  severally  advise ; 
l^ach  told  some  things  'twere  certain  true, 
f  Tor  did  I  all  my  labor  rue. 
|f ow  let  us  never  vainly  spurn 
^)f  any  man,  a  truth  to  learn ; 

^or  who  despbingly  has  scann'd 

^he  diamond  though  in  common  sand  ? 

'he  Trio  look'd yrom  whert  they  stoodf 

]ach  saw  Tie  evil  and  the  good. 

lius  all  upon  this  life  do  gaze, 

ht  each  beholds  a  different  phase. 


32 


Spring. 


t 


^i 


IH       il 


''^f  'il 


if* .  I! 


SPRING. 

Welcome,  thou  genial  Spring  again, 

While  Notus  gently  blows. 
And  the  meridian  rays  sustain, 

The  murm'riug  brook  that  flows. 

Welcome,  ye  transitory  birds, 

We've  waited  for  you  long. 
We've  niiss'd  you  'mong  the  hardier  herds, 

We've  niiss'd  your  tuneful  song. 

Welcome,  ye  plsasant  showere  of  rain 

In  lieu  of  hail  and  snow. 
To  wash  away  each  bio.  and  stain 

From  smiling  Nature's  brow. 

No  longer  let  the  ploughman  stay 

Before  the  blazing  fire. 
No  longer  on  the  lute  to  play,  ' 

Or  on  the  peaceful  lyre. 

The  flocks  no  longer  huddle  round 

The  stall  they  used  to  fill, 
But  grazing  on  the  meadow  ground, 

Or  on  the  distant  hill. 

All  Nature  seems  so  blithe  and  gay 

With  nothing  to  annoy. 
That  one  would  almost  think  or  s  ly, 

"  This  world  is  one  of  joy." 


Iceland. 


33 


Then  let  our  ountless  praises  rise 
To  Father  of  us  all,  » 

Who  dwells  above  the  azure  skies 
And  blesseth  great  and  small. 

Then  let  us  live  and  learn  to  love 
The  God  of  Nature  more, 

To  whom  we  hope  to  go  above, 
As  taught  in  sacred  lore. 


.'1S 


ICELAND. 

There  is  a  little  rocky  isle 

Away'n  the  frozen  zone, 
Amid  cold  Arctic  waves,  she  stands 

In  solitude  alone.  r 

Her  mountains,  ever  clad  with  snow, 

In  majesty  arise 
Toward  the  sailor's  guiding  star,  ; 

Implanted  in  the  skies. 

Beneath  these  lofty  monuments 

Eternal  blazes  glow; 
And  from  their  summits  bound  in  ice, 

Oft  boiling  liquids  flow. 

Among  these  mountains  drear  and  cold 

A  happy  people  dwell; 
Since  ev'i'y  nation  on  the  globe 

In  virtue  they  excel. 

3 


«|!* 


34 


Iceland. 


\   m'\\ 


i'O 


I  <" 


i  .r 


ii  !  5 


t    ■ 
i   i 


•S 


They  have  no  silver  bri^fht,  nor  gold 

To  tempt  the  robber's  eyes; 
The  tyrant  sees  no  treasure  there, 

To  make  a  worthy  prize. 

The  Icelanders  contented  live, 
As  taught  in  Holy  Word 
And  for  each  blessing  they  receive, 
'All  thanks  they  give  to  God. 

Each  father  tells  his  children,  how 

Jesus  of  Bethlehem 
Is  standing  now  in  paradise 

To  intercede  for  them. 

How  they  must  live  and  serve  their  God, 

Who  loved  them  the  first, 
And  now  will  deign  to  pardon  sins, 

The  slightest  and  the  worst. 

Those  Christian  people  thus  have  lived 
Free  from  all  wars  and  fears. 

For  they  have  not  an  army  seen 
These  twice  three  hundred  years. 

But  they,  like  brothers  true,  have  dwelt 

Ii:  love  with  nil  the  world ; 
And  may  the  flag  of  war  remain 

As  now,  forever  furl'd. 

May  all  the  nations  of  the  earth 

From  direful  carnage  cease, 
And  look  to  dreary  Iceland's  coast 

To  learn  the  ways  of  peace. 


J 


Pi: 


"•»-~ 


JNature. 


35 


To  see  a  people  who  can  li^re 
At  peace  with  one  and  all, 

Who  settle  not  their  differences 
By  sword  and  nitisk<et  batl. 


; 


NATURE. 

How  beautiful  and  strangely  fair, 
The  varied  works  of  Nature  are! 

The  vine  clad  hills, 

The  gurgling  rills, 
That  meet  the  eye  most  ev'ry where; 

The  countless  stars  that  blaze  at  night. 
The  moon  that  shines  with  borrowM  light, 

As  on  she  flies 

Along  the  skies, 
A  wonderful  and  pleasing  sight 

The  flashing  lights  in  beauty  glow. 
Reflected  from  the  northern  snow 

That  ever  stands 

In  frigid  lands, 
From  which  the  cold  winds  always  blow. 

The  rainbow's  fair  with  changing  hue 
Of  orange,  purple,  red  and  blue, 

That  was  to  Noah, 

When  floods  were  o'er, 
A  sign  as  marvelous  as  true« 


-v'j 


r 


j^ir 


36 


Mature. 


\ 


1  ■;■  '• 

1 

!?i 

I 
( 

:     « 

;■■"   I 

-■?, 

ii'^: 


^.'ii 


I  ;.  ■  .ii 


The  fountain  rises  from  the  ground, 
Its  edges  o'er  with  mosses  bound, 

Giving  to  man, 

Since  time  began, 
The  sweetest  nectar  ever  found. 

The  livers  rushing  onward,  roll 
Toward  their  common  briny  goal, 

Where  they  in  vain 

Try  earth  to  drain. 
To  that  ne'er  ovei-flowing  bowl. 

The  boundless  and  unfathom'd  sea. 
Fit  emblem  of  eternity, 

Forever  roars  ♦ 

Along  the  shores. 
E'en  from  its  centre  to  the  lee. 

The  hills  are  clothed  with  many  flocks, 
With  here  and  there  a  ledge  of  rocks, 

That  doth  afford 

A  safe  abode. 
Wherein  may  dwell  the  wolf  and  fox. 

The  trees  and  flowers  that  deck  the  field 
And  pleasing  fragrance  ever  yield, 

Make  all  to  say,      ,  ^-  ** 

"  Thrice  bless'd  are  they. 
From  whom  these  things  are  not  conceal'd." 

When  once  these  beauties  meet  the  eye. 
Of  land,  or  sea,  or  azure  sky, 

Each  one  doth  grieve 

Such  scenes  to  leave, 
And  turns  away  but  with  a  sigh. 


The  Laborer. 


37 


THE  LABORER. 

Siace  that  time  when  our  father  Adam  sinn'd, 
lAnd  was  to  labor  doom'd  for  all  his  days, 
J  With  those  that  might  in  future  ages  dwell 
jOn  this  terrestrial  ball ;  some  men  have  tried 
jTo  live  in  ease  and  luxury,  and  thus 
Annul  the  punishment  laid  down  by  God. 
Those,  who  thus  strive  to  change  the  eternal  law, 
Do  but  increase  the  magnitude  of  guilt, 
That  o'er  them  hangs,  and  which  they  expiate 
{By  dismal  nightmare  with  its  monsters,  that 
Press  down  a  stomach  fill'd  with  dainty  food, 
Which  strict  obedience  can  alone  digest.    . 

The  man  who  earns  by  his  own  hands,  the  bread 
That  feeds  himself,  his  wife  and  little  ones, 
Although  he  suffers  from  the  parching  heat 
or  a  meridian  sun  or  piercing  cold 
Of  Winter's  chilling  blast,  yet  sleep  to  him 
Comes  as  the  zephyrs  on  a  silent  grove. 
Or  as  the  darkness  spreads  its  shades  across 
The  level  surface  of  the  boundless  deep. 
No  cares  or  fears  harrass  his  quiet  mind. 
When  he  in  peace  returns  from  work  at  night 
With  conscience  clear  and  calm,  just  like  a  lake, 
Whose  placid  bosom  not  a  wave  doth  lash. 
'Tis  he  alone  who  learns  to  take  the  ills 
Of  life  with  such  a  grace.,  that  makes  them  all 
But  one  continued  blessing,  which  in  truth 
He  understands  and  loves,  at  sent  from  God. 


m 


Ill 


I       ' 


38 


A  Summer  Morning. 


* 


1  /  :i- 


^1 


I  -i^   ' 


A  SUMMER  MORNING. 

Above  the  trees  on  yonder  hill, 
The  rays  of  morn  began  to  peep, 

And  silent  was  the  whippowil, 
That  sings  alone  while  others  sleep  ; 

The  sky  was  clear,  a  gentle  gale 
Was  sweeping  o'er  the  fields  ofgreei^ 

As  I  in  quiet  near'd  the  vale 
In  solitude  to  view  the  scene. 

The  heavy  fog  rose  slowly  up, 
Unvailing  thus  the  bright  blue  sky, 

While  birds  oft  seek  the  streams  to  supy 
Then  to  the  leafy  bowers  fly. 

The  robin  with  her  tuneful  notes 
First  broke  the  solemn  stillness  there, 

Which  call'd  from  many  featherM  throat» 
Sweet  songs  that  fill'd  the  morning  air. 

The  warbling  lark  and  bobolink 

While  singing,  in  the  air  arise, 
All  join'd  to  make  the  listener  think 

He's  found  at  length  a  paradise. 

The  timid  rabbit  flies  away 

And  leaves  the  half  cropp'd  herbs  in  fear, 
Supposing  that  a  hunter  may 

With  snare  and  gun  be  near. 


5 


Fomih  of  July, 

The  cunning  fox  is  pnssing  by, 
Returning  from  a  farmer's  yard, 

To  which  he  did  in  silent  hie. 
While  yet  the  arching  sky  was  starr'd. 

Thus  Nature,  with  her  works,  to  me 
Is  truly  pleasing  and  sublime, 

And  glorious  they  are  to  see 
At  da//n  of  day  in  Summer  time. 


39 


FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

Hail !  happy  day,  once  more  returnM 

To  witness  and  inspire. 
The  love  of  truth  and  liberty 

In  patriot  son  and  sire. 

We  think  of  well  fought  battles  now. 

And  heroes  early  slain, 
Who  shed  their  blood  in  our  behalf 

On  many  a  dusty  plain. 

We  sigh,  perhaps,  for  laurels  won 
By  worthier  hands  than  ours. 

And  envy  their  heroic  brows, 
Crown'd  with  immortal  flow'rs. 

But  is  there  not  for  us  to  do    ' 

A  work  for  coming  time  ? 
So  that  the  praises  of  our  deeds 

May  with  our  fathers^  chime. 


m 


)  ■:: 


\  i 


p 

'B^ 

f*'i^ 

I" 

i 
1 

;    ■ 

.'     '        '  ' 

i   ; 

• 

1  , 

t 

11 

'Tis  true  from  fields  of  battle  din« 

We  glory  can  not  gain ; 
Nor  do  the  dire  demands  of  war, 

Our  richest  treasures  drain. 

In  fields  of  science  ne'er  explored 

And  undiscovered  truth, 
A  chance  we  have  to  labor  on, 

Both  sages  wise  and  youth. 

As  each  one  does  for  glory  strive 
And  hardly  tries  to  win  it. 

Let  him  the  world,  leave  better  r 
For  his  own  living  in  it. 

Let's  seek  that  fame  for  noble  deeds, 
That  will  not  fade  or  die, 

As  long  as  trees  grow  upward 
And  rolling  planets  fly. 

May  each  devoted  patriot 

This  day  again  resolve 
Fidelity  to  principle. 

And  for  our  country,  love. 


,  I 


J' 


1*. 

11 

■  s 

i:': 

w 

'■ 

1 

iii 

A  HOME. 


"  Give  me  a  Home  in  the  country  wide," 
Where  rushing  winds  are  free ; 

There  no  advantage  is  denied 
And  ev'ry  joy  may  be. 


Lines  Written  to  a  City  Friend.         41 

Give  me  a  house  near  a  shady  grove 

Where  birds  go  flitting  by ; 
An  open  fire,  no  latent  stove, 

Which  makes  my  heart  to  sigh. 

Give  me  a  decent  neighborhood, 

Of  gen'rous  men  and  true; 
ril  live  content  there  with  the  good 

And  bid  the  world — adieu. 

Give  me  a  church  a  mile  away, 

A  worthy  preacher  too. 
And  ril  not  leave  or  learn  to  say, 

I  go  to  seek  a  new. 


n- 


LINES  WRITTEN  TO  A  CITY  FRIEND. 

Talk  not  of  city  life  to  me, 

Its  pleasures  and  its  joys ; 
rd  rather  be  away  up  here, 

Among  Green  Mountain  boys. 

Talk  not  of  balls  and  theatres, 

That  I  "  have  never  seen," 
Nor  ask  with  a  sarcastic  hint, 

"  Are  the  mountains  only  green^^ 

I  scorn  such  trivial  queries 

About  the  people  here, 
Who  live  a  life  of  virtue  stern, 

And  die  without  a  fear. 


11 


I'    1 


hi; 


;.i 


.•Mi 


I  ■' 


^r%  : 


•<l 


\i 


Mil 


!8'     t 

it  i 


■!        ^ 


42      £«nC5  WVt7^€?i  ^o  a  City  Friend. 

It's  true,  like  some  pragmatic  cits, 
We  while  not  time  away, 

For  what  we  here  call  vanity^ 
Supreme  a  pls^isure,  they. 

The  widow's  call  and  orphan's  cry 
In  vain  ne'er  reach  our  ear, 

But  rise  from  crowded  city  walls 
To  Heavfaj  all  the  year. 

We  give  the  worthy  needy  here 
From  out  our  bounteous  store; 

But  you  compel  the  poor  to  steal, 
Or  die  with  hunger  sore. 

Your  prison  walls  are  crowded  full, 
While  empty  ours  remain. 

Sad  monuments  of  days  agone. 
Ne'er  to  return  again. 

Of  lawyers  you've  an  overplus. 
Who  live  by  others'  strife; 

But  ministers,  we  here  support, 
To  teach  "  the  way  of  lifo." 

We  "  moral  suasion  "do  employ 
To  guide  the  people's  mind, 

Yet  now  and  then  like  "  Bristol  Bill," 
We,  a  city  poser,  find. 

We  lead  a  peaceful  country  life 
Among  these  northern  hills. 

And  of  no  joys  are  we  deprived^ 
While  absent  are  all  ills. 


ii:,   i 


A  Friend, 


43 


And  if  you  think  weVe  lonesome  here, 

Or  want  to  live'n  a  city, 
Don't  shed  one  tear  for  our  ''  sad  fate,** 

Or  fihow  such  savage  •*  pity.*' 

Consider  well,  nor  credence  give 

T*  opinions  so  absurd, 
For  we  such  pleasures  do  enjoy 

As  you  have  never  heard. 

There's  not  a  happier  populace, 

Who  better  love  to  toil, 
Than  those  who  live  in  old  Vermont 

And  till  the  fertile  soil. 

Then  nvoble  cit,  when  you  get  tired 
Of  your  "  so  happy  "  city  life, 

Come  up  and  spend  a  month  or  two, 
Free  from  all  urban  strife. 

And  dwell  among  the  rustics  here, 

To  learn  our  simple  ways. 
How  that  we  live  and  how  we  act 

And  pass  our  happy  days. 


'\r^ 


A  FRIEND. 

The  rich  man  cloth'd  in  gorgeous  robes, 
Who  all  his  life  in  sport  doth  spend, 

Rests  not  with  pleasure  in  his  halls, 
Unless  beside  him  sits  a  friend. 


m 


% 


I 


I 

I  : 


^ 


I 


:4:] 


4 


"i 

■■i 
ii 


44    ./2  Rolling  Stone  Gathers  no  Moss. 

The  poor  man  cJad  in  tatter'd  rags, 
Whose  daily  bread  by  toil  is  gain'd, 

Is  happy  while  he  labors  on, 
If  by  him  stands  a  faithful  friend. 

The  weary  travele ',  with  zeal  ^ 

Seeks  for  his  distant  journey's  end, 

In  hope  of  meeting  there  again. 
His  well-beloved  and  long-miss'd  friend. 

The  mariner  upon  the  deep, 
Oft  words  of  fervent  love  will  send 

Across  the  boundless,  briny  flood, 
Where  dwells  the  one  he  calls  his  firiend. 

When  fair  success  upon  us  smiles 
And  pleasant  fortune  doth  attend, 

We  love  to  shake  the  proferr'd  hand — 
Be  greeted  by  a  friend. 

When  sorrow  hurls  its  beating  waves. 
By  which  our  grieving  hearts  are  pain'd, 

And  men  look  on  with  silent  scorn — 
Ah !  then  indeed  we  love  a  friend. 


«  A  ROLLING  STONE  GATHERS  NO  MOSS. 

When  you  are  in  a  pleasant  place 
E'er  free  from  gloomy  grief  and  loss, 

Ba  sure  and  not  desert  it,  for 
^^  A  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss." 


J 

!!.,», 


wo  Moss. 

rags, 
gain'd, 

iend. 


's  end, 
iss'd  friend. 


send 
d, 

s  his  friend. 


Old  Year. 

This  simple  line  do  not  abhor, 
Since  when  the  rolling  billows  toss, 

You^ll  fear  and  quake  most  sadly,  for 
*'  A  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss." 

Ne'er  leave  the  old  to  seek  a  new. 
Without  a  just  and  proper  cause, 

Lest  you  may  find  too  late, 'tis  true 
"  A  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss." 

Though  little  I  have  seen  of  life,  v 
This  one  opinion  I'll  indorse: 

Avoid  rash  changes,  e'en  and  strife ; 
"  A  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss.** 


45 


^aves, 

»'e  pain'd, 
rn — 
nd. 


NO  Moss; 

loss, 


OLD  YEAR.— (1857.) 

Another  year  is  counted 
Among  the  things  that  were. 

Nor  have  the  steeds  of  Helius 
A  moment  to  demur. 

But  onward,  onward  flying, 
They  bear  the  year  away. 

Disdaining  for  slow  mortals 
Their  shining  course  to  stay. 

A  year  of  fleeting  pleasures. 
Of  joy  and  mirth,  is  gone 

For  those  whom,  sweet  innocence 
And  gay ety  adorn.    -,  r--/ 


\'-'.L 


m 


!  'H 


,      M 


M 


'■■•<: 

i 

! 

,ii' 

;:/^ 

1 '  - 


*i 


f 


iil 


^  Tb  the  Cmtooeook. 

A  year  of  zealous  study 

Ihe  student  has  pass'd  o'fii. 
In  adding  acquisition'^"*'' 

io  all  Jiis  former  store. 

Tile  Iwnest  ftrmer's  seen 
Than  whom  a  happier  man' 

There's  not  on  earth,  I  ween. 

A  year  of  sad  disaster. 

Has  oft?h"°''?°''*  "'""e  trade. 
Has  oft  the  shrewdest  merch^ts      ■ 
rhe  veriest  beggaw  mada 

When  all  in  all's  consider'd, 
Th„,.'^''^y*'""  we've  had. 

And  with  u  falling  tef  r  sav 
Mydearoldfrifndr^ooTbye. 

TO  THE  CONTOOCOOK 

Thy  C/b\Sr'*"  *°"  *•''"'-»«« 
Wherel^!'"'°'^'^-e''. 


To  the  Contoocook, 


47 


My  hat  of  straw  or  tiDy  net, 
I  oft  for  littJe  fishes  set, 

While  *neath  the  sun 

I'd  wade  for  fun, 
To  pluck  the  lilies  bright  and  fair. 
That  grew  upon  thy  margin  there* 

Upon  a  lovely  Summer  day, 
Along  thy  bank,  I  loved  to  stray. 

With  pole  and  line 

And  tackling  fine. 
Such  as  the  fisher's  wont  to  bear. 
Adjusted  all  with  proper  care. 

Or  in  the  evening's  silent  hour 
Within  some  lone,  sequesler'd  bow'r 

Where  no  moon  beam 

Of  light  could  gleam. 
Around  the  circuit,  where  I'd  wish 
In  solitude  to  sit  and  fish. 

From  thy  fair  bosom  I  have  caught 
Those  little  fish  of  ev'ry  sort, 

From  pike  and  pout, 

To  eel  and  trout, 
And  those  with  names,  now  known  so  well. 
That  in  thy  waters  thickly  dwell. 

But  when  thou  wast  in  ice  bands  bound, 
Tve  walk'd  upon  thee  as  the  ground, 

Nor  then  was  I 

Compell'd  to  hie, 
'Round  by  the  bridge,  but  I  could  there, 
Cross  o'er  thy  bosom  blue  and  glare. 


''m 


-if. 


J 


R'i     ■! 


t^'^l 


48  To  the  Contoocook, 

Then  on  a  clear  and  wintry  night, 
Beneath  the  pale  moon's  glimmering  light, 

The  merry  boys 

With  gayest  joys, 
Were  wont  to  skate  o'er  thee  so  deaf. 
Thrice  swifter  than  the  bounding  deer. 

Such  scenes,  alas !  for  me  are  o'er,  , 

Nor  will  I,  on  thy  bosom  more, 

My  comrades,  meet 

And  joyous  greet; 
Yet  since  thou  art  fore'er  the  same. 
Thee  good  old  friend,  I  can  not  blame. 

For  while  the  Winters  come  and  go 
With  howling  winds  and  drifting  snow, 

Thou  wilt  fore'er 

With  surface  clear, 
Oft  listen  to  the  skater's  song 
As  merrily  he  glides  along. 

When  children's  children  joyous  sing 
And  make  thy  beauteous  waters  ring, 

Thou  well  canst  say 

Upon  that  day, 
"As  years  for  others  give  their  place, 
So  'tis  with  men,  a  changing  race." 


i  i 


I 


?  light, 


TAe  Temperance  Cause. 


49 


r, 

Ber. 


1  J 


ie. 


DW, 


THE  TEMPERANCE  CAUSE. 

For  many  years,  weVe  oft  been  told   > 
Of  glaring  evils  manifold, 
That  do  embrace  with  deadly  hand 
The  people  of  our  happy  land ; 
And  not  the  least  of  these  perchance 
The  evil  of  Intemperance. 
Within  our  legislative  halls, 
At  private  parties  and  at  balls. 
At  village  tavern,  country  store, 
We  hear  it  echoM  o'er  and  o'er; 
And  if  a  while  you'll  lend  an  ear, 
About  this  matter  you  shall  hear. 

There  was  a  time  not  long  ago, 
As  all  our  worthy  fathers  know, 
When  men  their  buildings  couldn't  raise. 
Nor  meet  for  husking  out  their  maize. 
Without  a  little  sprite  to  drink ; 
For  thus  the  wisest  learn'd  to  think. 
Then  friends  together  loved  to  sup 
The  pleasing  contents  of  the  cup, 
Regarding  irot  to-morrow's  weal, 
While  drinking  now  they  happy  feel; 
Regretting  that  their  necks  are  not 
As  endless  as  the  winding  rut, 
For  happy  men  indeed  are  they, 
If  they  forget  the  coming  day. 
Then  even  parsons  did  not  scorn 
With  laity  to  take  a  horn 

4 


'i 


■J^ 


^-m 


:''i 


f.. 


;t::  -'lii 


' 


50  The  Temperance  Cause. 

Of  brandy,  or  of  blushing  wine, 

As  guest  or  host  chanced  to  incline ; 

For  they  could  prove  from  Holy  Word 

That  in  so  doing  no  one  err'd ; 

And  if  a  skeptic  there  might  be, 

They'd  read  Paul's  words  to  Timothy; 

Forgetting  how  the  prophet  John 

Was  never  known  to  take  a  horn 

Of  stronger  spirits,  or  of  wine 

That  came  directly  from  the  vine; 

Nor  did  they  think  of  righteous  Noah, 

That  drunk  lay  sprawling  on  the  floor, 

Who  brought  the  curse  of  God  upon 

Unlucky  Ham,  his  impious  son. 

And  if  a  preacher  of  that  day, 

While  in  the  pulpit,  dared  to  say, 

That  '*  strong  drink  rages  and  wine  mocke," 

HeM  not  be  callM  quite  orthodox ; 

For  thus  he'd  meddle  in  th'  affair 

That  to  the  world  should  be  a  care. 

"  Let  ministers  the  gospel  preach," 
In  thunder  tones  the  rabble  screech ; 
While  deacons  grave,  to  say  are  heard, 
"  All  ministers  should  preach  the  word, 
And  not  about  such  things  dispute, 
Lest  they  should  gain  a  bad  repute." 
Then  truly  almost  all  agreed  * 
That  of  such  talk  there  was  no  need. 
Since  best  of  men  would  fail  to  dine 
Before  they'd  lose  their  glass  of  tvine. 

Few  were  the  preachers,  passing  few, 
(If  rife  tradition  speaketh  true,) 
That  would  the  proffer'd  bowl  decline 


'  i 


The  Temperance  Cause, 

Or  speak  against  imbibing  wine, 

Since  they  supposed  it  was  no  sin 

To  take  a  glass  of  wine  or  gin, 

In  sooth  but  for  their  stomach's  sake. 

Or  to  prevent  a  sick  headache, 

Or  render  them  more  eloquent 

In  warning  sinners  to  repent. 

But  in  their  zeal  men's  souls  to  save 

A  price,  in  vain,  they  sometimes  gave 

Their  manhood  and  their  scanty  wealth, 

Their  reputation  and  their  health. 

While  as  a  mark  of  passing  zeal 

Some  like  a  drunken  man  would  reel ; 

And  as  those  zealuus  men  arose 

Each  one  display'd  a  blushing  nose ; 

Then  to  their  hearers'  great  surprise. 

They  strangely  roll'd  their  bloodshot  eyes. 

Now  this  the  faithful  most  appall'd. 

That  ministers  were  drunkards  call'd. 

But  these  astounding  facts  were  true. 

E'en  at  that  time  of  very  few ; 

Yet  that  it  is  not  all  a  lie 

Their  own  transactions  testify. 

In  old  Mass'chusetts,  famous  state, 

(As  truthful  writers  do  relate,) 

A  great  convention  met  of  those, 

Who  much  desired  to  oppose 

The  wicked  practices  of  some, 

Who  drank  too  freely,  wine  and  rum. 

These  ministers  discuss'd  the  case 

And  wept  for  their  so  great  disgrace; 

Yet  they  did  not  condemn  rum's  tue, 

But  only  its  profane  abuse, 

By  those  who  did  all  warning  spite 


51 


J^i 


,^ii 


1' 

'.  V 


•I 


*^'i    ii 


1 


I    lit 


I    ;- 


^i*i|i 
'*li 


52  7%6  Temperance  Cat^e. 

And  thus  ha<I  fail'd  to  drink  aright. 
Each  one  a  solemn  pledge  then  gave, 
That  temp'rately  he  would  behave, 
Nor  drunk  in  future  would  be  seen 
With  brandy,  or  with  Holland  gin. 

A  prophet  wise  it  did  not  need 

To  tell  to  what  this  thing  would  lead ; 

For  when  a  man  a  pledge  has  made 

That  he'll  not  eat  his  daily  bread. 

Not  one  in  ten  will  then  allow 

His  life  to  go  and  keep  his  vow; 

These  preachers  e'en  had  not  yet  learn'd 

To  handle  fire  and  not  be  burn'd, 

Nor  in  their  bosoms  could  they  take 

Unharmed  still,  the  deadly  snake. 

They  drank  their  bev'rage  as  before, 
Their  pledge  they  learned  to  ignore ; 
Again  the  laity  declared 
The  state  of  things  was  far  too  bad, 
That  preachers  had  all  good  men  shock'd 
And  Heav'n  itself  too  gravely  mock'd. 

Another  meeting  was  convened. 
Where  many  ministers  were  wean'd 
Of  rum,  and  gin,  and  wines  of  France, 
And  all  the  varied  stimulants; 
For  by  each  one  a  pledge  was  giv'n 
Before  the  God  of  earth  and  heav'n. 
That  they  renounce  from  present  date 
AH  drink  that  could  intoxicate. 
And  from  that  day  e'en  until  now 
These  and  their  followers  kept  the  vow. 
While  in  a  score  of  years,  1  ween 


The  Temperance  Cause. 

A  drunken  preacher  is  not  seen. 
Therefore  indeed  they  did  advance 
The  newborn  cause  of  Temperance. 

Then  came  that  idea  Into  life, 

That  since  has  caused  so  great  a  strife ; 

About  which  civil  war  has  raged 

In  which  so  many  have  engaged, 

By  writing  fast  and  speaking  loud 

Before  the  eager  list'ning  crowd. 

Inviting  ail  to  sign  the  pledge 

And  in  the  sacred  cause  engage. 

Some  do  accept  but  some  refuse. 

Some  treat  politely,  some  abuse 

Those  who  give  up  their  friends  and  home 

To  advocate  the  great  reform. 

To  lawyer,  doctor,  farmer,  wright. 

To  wealthy  trader,  humble  wight. 

Without  regard  to  race  or  age. 

All  they  invite  to  sign  the  pledge. 

The  lawyer  says:  **  You  see  that  toe 

Are  known  as  men  of  policy ^ 

Hence  did  your  scheme  present  a  cause 

For  men  to  violate  the  laws. 

Then  I  with  pleasui^e  would  engage 

To  place  my  name  below  the  pledge ; 

Hut  you  are  spending  half  your  time, 

To  prove  that  drunkeness  causes  crime. 

And  could  your  righteous  plan  prevail, 

The  church  would  soon  surplant  the  jail. 

Nor  then  would  men  like  beasts  of  prey. 

Each  other  mutilate  and  slay. 

If  thaVs  the  state  which  you  forewarn 

You  can't  from  here  too  soon  be  gone." 


53 


^ 


64 


The  Tenvperance  Cause, 


I 


m-i 


^ 


The  advocate  admits,  "  'Tis  so," 

And  that,  "  A  lawyer  must  forego 

A  certain,  for  a  dubious  chance 

Of  having  causes  to  enhance 

His  worldly,  and  his  legal  fame. 

But  yet  you'd  gain  a  spotless  name 

And  this  bright  line  your  tomb  would  grnce: 

**  Here  lies  a  man  that  blest  his  race.*' 

Thus  did  the  advocate  then  urge 

His  legal  friend  to  sign  the  pledge. 

Now  meets  he  iEsculapius'  son, 
Who  knew  the  compounds  evVy  one, 
That  form  his  cogent  medicines. 
As  well  as  brandies,  wines,  and  gins. 
1'he  doctor  thus  to  speak  began : 
**  I  am  indeed  a  TempVance  man ; 
In  poliiics  I  ne'er  engage, 
Therefore  I  cannot  sign  the  pledge, 
But  may  the  God  of  heaven  bless. 
And  to  your  cause  give  great  success;" 
While  he  within  himself  then  mused: 
**  To  all  such  custoniiers  I'm  used. 
A  soft  reply  turns  wrath  away. 
Thus  did  the  wisest  ancient  say; 
And  when  we  gain  a  friend  for  naught, 
It  is  a  prize  most  cheaply  bought ; 
Each  man,  though  humble  he  may  be, 
Can  greatly  help  or  injure  me ; 
But  fool  the  man  who  would  advise, 
To  put  an  acid  in  my  eyes; 
Yet  e'en  as  silly  is  the  head. 
Who  bids  me  to  refuse  my  bread — 
Give  up  my  patients,  and  engage; 
Ah !  can  it  be,  to  sign  the  ple^e** 


27te  Temperance  Cause. 


55 


t, 


The  advocate  regrets  to  find, 
This  polish'd  doctor  not  inclined 
To  give  his  name  and  firm  applause. 
For  aiding  such  a  noble  cause. 

The  farmer  is  invited  then, 

In  his  rough  hand  to  take  the  pen ; 

And  show  that  he  would  help  advance, 

The  rising  cause  of  Temperance. 

The  rustic  with  a  hearty  will, 

Just  mnkes  a  flourish  of  the  quill. 

Upon  the  freely  offer'd  scroll, 

And  there  his  name  stands  on  the  roll. 

The  advocate  apace  drew  near 

A  man  that  dealt  in  lager  beer; 

His  object  was  of  course  to  stop. 

The  business  of  his  neighbor's  shop  ; 

The  pledge  was  offered,  and  behold ! 

How  fiercely  did  the  trader  scold ; 

His  fists  he  clench'd,  his  teeth  did  gnash, 

He  threatens  loud  the  man  to  thrash. 

But  he  alack!  was  a  puny  man, 

His  height  but  five  feet  and  a  span, 

And  though  he  raved,  and  stampM  and  swore,  * 

He  learn 'd  'twould  take  at  least  a  score 

Of  fighting  men  about  his  weight 

To  scare  the  humble  advocate; 

Who  ask'd  the  trader  to  be  cool. 

And  strive  his  passions  all  to  rule ; 

Then  if  his  arguments  should  fail 

To  prove  the  wrong  of  selling  ale. 

Gin,  whiskey,  brandy,  wine  and  rum, 

HeM  leave  in  peace  as  he  had  come. 

The  trader  said,  "  I  had  as  lief. 

You'd  speak  but,  babbler,  be  thou  brief, 


'Ir. 


i   t 

i     Win 


ri 


r 
1.  ■■  _ 

I'-  \ 


f 


-ttl, 


tU  If 


66  jTAe  Temperance  Cattse, 

Nor  let  an  insult  pass  thy  lip, 

Lest  with  this  cane  you  get  a  clip." 

The  advocate  then  plainly  said, 

That  he  was  not  at  all  afraid; 

Nor  did  l:e  truly  much  incline, 

To  cast  fine  pearls  before  the  swine ; 

But  in  the  very  briefest  way, 

He'd  tell  his  friend  what  he'd  to  say; 

Thus  then  most  cooly  he  began 

To  lay  the  case  before  the  man ; 

Who  when  he  all  the  story  hears, 

Is  almost  brought  to  shedding  tears; 

While  he  for  pardon  ask'd  his  friend, 

Beneath  the  pledge  his  name  he  penn'd. 

The  advocate  then  meets  a  man, 
Who  bears  upon  his  arm  a  can ; 
He  asks  his  friend  to  sign  the  pledge. 
But  this  reply  comes  with  a  rage; 
**  Depart  from  me  thou  who  dost  think 
To  tell  a  man  what  he  bhall  drink! 
Thou  knave!  our  country  yet  is  free, 
So  shall  it  be  fore'er  to  me ; 
Next  tell  a  man  what  he  shall  eat! 
E'en  whether  bread,  or  fish,  or  meat, 
How  long  and  when  each  one  shall  sleep. 
How  many  dogs  or  cats  to  keep ! 
Down  !  with  such  tyranny  and  slang, 
Down!  with  that  lowlived  traitor  gang; 
Beware  or  you  I  quick  will  smite. 
Or  show  your  liver  to  the  light." 
The  advocate  then  gravely  said : 
"  I  fear  that  some  mistake  is  made! 
I  know  not  what  you  mean  my  friend, 
To  thee  I  did  no  wrong  intend. 
Your  libeHies  you'll  not  forego, 


» 


The  Temperance  Came.  bl 

Whether  you  sign  the  pledge  or  no ; 
To  sign  the  pledge  you  merely  grant, 
That  you  will  drink  no  stimulant, 
By  whate'er  name  it  chance  to  come, 
From  Holland  gin  to  Medford  rum; 
And  all  the  cash  you  thus  will  save, 
May  keep  the  hungry  from  the  grave." 
To  make  a  long  transaction  short. 
The  man  his  liquor  never  bought; 
But  with  lamp  oil,  he  fill'd  his  can 
And  was  for  e'er  a  Temp'rance  man. 

Thus  canvassers  went  up  and  down, 

Through  city,  village,  port  and  town, 

Inviting  men  of  every  class. 

To  break  the  bottle  and  the  glass ; 

While  Temp'rance  meetings  they  would  call, 

Of  men  and  women,  great  and  small, 

Where  speakers  show'd  them  at  a  glance, 

The  horrors  of  Intemperance. 

Thus  many  thousands  sign'd  the  pledge. 

The  blooming  youth,  and  gray  hair'd  sage ; 

And  swiftly  roll'd  the  new  ball  on, 

From  Hudson  river  to  St.  John. 

And  farther  than  these  limits  e'en. 

The  Temp'rance  banner  soon  was  seen. 

According  to  their  zealous  aim, 

They  many  drunkard^  did  reclaim. 

Then  "  Moral  Suasion,"  rose  on  high, 

The  watch-word  and  the  rally  cry; 

This  motto  boldly  stood  the  storm. 

And  brought  about  a  great  reform. 

About  the  Temperance  laws  of  late. 

That  some  condemn,  some  advocate, 

Which  not  to  history  belong, 

I  speak  not  in  my  humble  song. 


HA 

.1 


■■■ll.'IV,     ,. 


!  ; 


If 


h       \i 


58 


Autumn. 


AUTUMN. 

Cold  Boreas  begins  to  blow 
From  frozen  regions  of  the  pole, 

While  transient  birds  prepare  to  go, 
Where  genial  winds  the  air  control. 

The  farmer  hies  to  gather  in 
His  crops  of  grain  and  yellow  com, 

And  rarest  fruits,  his  spacious  bin 
Receives  from  Plenty's  golden  horn. 

The  spotted  leaves  are  from  the  trees 
Now  gently  falling  one  by  one, 

And  shorter  grows  the  flight  of  bees 
As  dimmer  shines  the  distant  sun. 

The  woodchuck  and  the  lazy  bear 
Go  to  their  Winter's  drowsy  sleep. 

In  which  for  frost  nor  snow  they  care. 
But  e'en  till  Spring  in  silence  keep. 

The  little  squirrel  prcvident 
Lays  up  his  preciops  store  of  fruit, 

Such  as  the  God  of  Nature  meant 
Should  well  this  rover's  palate  suit. 

Thus  all  for  Winter  now  prepare 
Its  stern  and  dreary  frost  to  meet. 

Until  our  land,  from  southern  air 
The  vernal  zephyrs  coming  greet. 


411, 


The  Contest 


59 


HOD. 


You  win !  white  blackbirds !  let  it  be  a  hoe ; 
Mine  still  is  new,  yet  two,  I'll  not  refuse. 


THE  CONTEST. 

lodi  Steph  and  Fletch,  Boys  in  ike  employ  of  Farmer 

Suih. 

IScene — Cornfield  on  the  bank  of  the  Contoocook. 

HOD. 

INow  Suth  is  gone,  it  is  the  time  for  you, 

[Young  Steph,  to  make  thy  former  boastings  good. 


^i.M 


STEPH. 


Well  said,  for  yonder  flows  Contoocook  stream, 
'And  here  are  countless  pebbles  smooth  and  round. 


HOD. 


Yes,  too,  and  Fletch  is  here  to  save  dispute, 
I  Just  name  the  wager  that  may  please  thee  best. 


t^i 


STEPH. 


My  hoe  is  rusty  now  and  ni^h  worn  out; 
I'd  like  to  win  a  spring-steel,  gooseneck  hoe. 


' ;  'If 


STEPH. 


Declare  the  rules  that  shall  the  contest  guide, 
And  Fletch  may  see  them,  each  observed  fair. 


'-  I 


f» 


60 


The  Contest. 


I'i 

i 

1 

■      '.  ■ 

^r'*; 


HOD. 


He  that  shall  lodge  on  yonder  bank  more  stones 
From  five,  will  own  the  hoe;  What  say  to  that? 


STEPH. 


Far  rather,  best  in  three,  lest  Suth  returns 
Before  the  contest  can  be  fairly  closed. 


HOD. 


So  shall  it  be,  and  Fletch  will  draw  a  line 
Across  which  neither  one  of  us  may  go. 


STEFH. 


My  pebbles  three  are  ready  now,  and  you 
Can  not  too  quick  display  your  first  attempt. 


HOD. 


Now  look.     [Throws  his  first  pehhle  across,]    Far  up 

on  yonder  bank  it  lies. 
Throw,  Steph;  and  then  Fll  do  the  same  again. 


STEPH. 


Indeed  I  may  not  cast  this  stone  across, 

For  I  am  younger,  yet  I  now  will  try. 

[Throws  Ms  first  pehbU}  which  falls  into  the  stream.] 


HOD. 


Ah !  why  so  terrify  the  harmless  fish  ? 
Jfho've  never  wrong'd  or  slightly  injured  you. 


STEPH. 


Rail  not  thus  Hod ;  His  true  I  once  have  faiPd ; 
But  we  have  each  two  pebbles  more  to  throw. 


♦ 


The  Contest 


61 


HOD. 


ihat's  so;  therefore,  IVe  yet  but  twice  to  win ; 
[Now  goes  the  second  far  to  yonder  shore. 
[T^roiTJ  his  second  pebble,  which  falls  in  the  stream.] 


STEPH. 


[To  yonder  bottom  of  the  stream  you  mean! 
Talk  not  to  me  again  of  scaring*  fish ! 


HOD. 


The  pebble  slipp'd  then  from  my  careless  hand, 
I  And  hence  it  did  not  reach  the  other  bank. 


-•-^1' 


STEPH, 


A  good  excuse!  I  now  will  try  again, 
For  yet  a  scanty  hope  to  me  remains. 
[Throws  his  second  pebble  across,] 

HOD. 

It  barely  reach'd  the  shore!  the  merest  chance! 
And  in  ten  times  you'd  not  do  that  again. 

i  -      " 

STEPH. 

Perhaps  Fd  not ;  but  make  your  last  attempt ; 
Then  I  will  test  your  so  prophetic  words. 


m 


HOD. 

The  wind  is  right,  that  stone  shall  quickly  lie 

Beside  the  one  that  first  I  threw  across. 

[Throws  his  third  pebble,  which  falls  into  the  sti'eam.] 

STEPH. 

Aha!  down  in  the  fishes'  bed  you  mean, 
W  here  just  before  your  second  pebble  sunk. 


•'4 


'M 


62  Departure  of  an  Indian  Tribe  Westward, 


?jl| 


HOD. 

Why  laugh ?  I'm  not  yet  beat;  but  cast  your  third; 
Destined  metbinks  to  dive  beneath  the  wave. 

STEPH. 

I  will.     [Throws  his  third  pebble  across,]    Behold  the] 

yonder  dust  arise, 
Disturbed  by  the  pebble  that  I  threw. 


Wi 


HOD. 


I  own  Vm  bent,  the  spring-steel  hoe  is  your's, 
But  this  decision  Til  reverse  ere  long. 


{Ml 


i  i^' 


4   : 
,1 


DEPARTURE  OF  AN  INDIAN  TRIBE  WEST- 

WARD. 

Some  joy  to  sing  the  stars  above, 

The  sun,  the  moon,  the  bow; 
Some  joy  to  chant  the  turtle-dove, 

The  bounding  fawn  and  roe. 

Well  chosen  themes  for  sportive  show, 

But  suited  not  to  me, 
More  than  the  gaudy  lily  blow 

Upon  the  cypress  tree. 

I've  suffer'd  not  displeasure. 

Endured  not  a  wrong ; 
Compassion  passing  measure 

Calls  forth  my  doleful  song. 


estward.   m    Departure  of  an  Indian  Tribe  Westward.  63 


i 


l^our  third, 
vave. 


Behold  the 


^ur'fl. 


E  WEST. 


Beside  Contoocook's  shady  edge, 

'Mong  stately  pine  and  oak, 
Where  gun,  nor  ax,  nor  sounding  wedge, 

The  silence  yet  had  broke. 

There  dwelt  a  joyous,  happy  band, 

That  new  not  how  to  weep. 
For  Nature  gave  them  herds  and  land 

And  fishes  of  the  deep. 

In  latent  philosophic  lore. 

The  red  man  had  not  skill ; 
He  had  this  gift,  he  wIshM  not  more, 

A  noble  untamed  will. 

He  askM  no  one  to  be  his  slave 
And  no  one's  slave  would  be, 

Until  he's  taught  to  be  a  knave 
By  those  from  o'er  the  sea. 

The  *<pale-face"  cross'd  the  boundless  sea, 

The  forests  fade  before  him, 
The  wild  beasts  howl  beneath  the  tree, 

The  birds  of  heaven  abhor  him. 

The  red  man  call'd  him  brother  friend 
And  taught  him  in  the  chase, 

Then  glad  to  lend  a  helping  hand 
And  **  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace." 

He  little  dream'd  those  strangers  might 

Become  as  sea-shore  sand ; 
Both  take  away  his  birthright  dear, 

And  rob  his  father-land. 


1^ 


r| 


i^^i 


.  ^1 


64 


Saint  Patrick, 


f  < 


I 


How  wars  arose  and  famine  spread, 

I  will  not  wait  to  tell, 
Not  count  the  forebt  children's  dead. 

Who  for  their  country  fell. 

They  met  beneath  a  spreading  oak 

One  day  in  early  Spring; 
The  Sachem  rose  and  gravely  spoke 

To  the  encircling  ring. 

"  Brave  brothers,  ye  are  call'd  upon 

Prepare  to  journey  far. 
Toward  the  distant  setting  sun, 

Toward  the  western  star." 


■•,  h 


:  iV  •:• 


f    !•■ 


SAINT  PATRICK. 

A  lovely  little  island  lies 

Just  off  the  Albion  shore, 
Atlaniic  billows  chafe  her  strand 

And  round  her  headlands  roar. 

Many  a  noble  hearted  soul 

Calls  Ireland  his  home. 
In  eastern  lands  or  western  wilds 

Where  he  may  chance  to  roam. 

Each  loves  to  sing  the  days  of  yore, 

When  'neath  the  forest  tree. 
Saint  Patrick  preach'd  the  Cross  of  Christ 

And  Ireland  was  free. 


Saint  Patrick. 


65 


But  through  the  lapse  of  many  years 
Unless  our  lamps  we  trim, 

Our  eyes  obscurely  read  the  past, 
Our  memories  grow  dim. 

And  as  the  ages  disappear, 
While  others  take  their  place, 

So  'tis  with  nations  and  with  tribes 
Of  ev'ry  mortal  race. 

Every  custom,  ev'ry  law 

Most  surely  will  decline. 
Unless  upon  its  face  its  bears 

The  mark  that  it's  divine. 

Every  man  in  time  shall  stand 

The  same  unerring  test. 
Each  must  receive  his  true  deserts. 

The  vilest  and  the  best. 

When  th'  historian  records 
The  names  of  former  times. 

His  pen  declares  what  each  deserves 
For  vinues  or  for  crimes. 

Yet  some  through  ignorance  or  vice 

Have  falsified  the  past. 
For  which  their  infamy  by  far 

Their  writings  will  outlast. 

And  lest  Saint  Patrick's  holy  deeds 
Should  be  effaced  by  time, 

A  version  true,  and  faithfully 
I  will  record  in  rhyme. 


'I; 

Pi  .'4 

km 


■;;.   V.  .ft 


4:  *- --Jl 


"Mm 
.<k-- ' 


¥^ 


66 


Saint  Patrick. 


4       4 


I 


1     kih 


Men  knowing  not  his  history 

Or  caring  not  for  truth, 
Have  lied  about  his  birthplace 

And  slandered  his  youth. 

Some  say  he's  born  in  Scotiai 

Or  in  an  Albion  fen, 
While  others  say  at  Nutriai 

Or  in  Rosina  glen. 

Some  at  Kirkpatrick  say  he's  born 

On  Pendac  near  the  tide, 
But  others  say  with  confidence 

Taberpiu    n  the  Clyde. 

These  are  profoundly  ignorant 

And  overlook  the  truth, 
Not  knowing  where  his  birthplace  was 

Nor  where  he  spent  his  youth. 

At  lovely  Tours,  a  town  of  Gaul 

This  holy  Saint  was  born. 
About  three  hundred  seventy-three, 

Upon  a  bright  Spring  morn. 

Souchet  his  mother  named  him 

On  his  baptismal  day, 
But  for  this  name  an  Englishman, 

"A  little  stock,"  would  say. 

Calpurnius  (his  father's  name,) 

A  deacon  long  was  he. 
Well  known  among  his  neighbors  all 

For  deeds  of  piety. 


'  rim' 


I 


Saint  Patrick. 


67 


His  mother,  great  Saint  Martin's  niece, 

Conchessa,  was  her  name, 
Descended  from  a  tribune,  who 

To  live  in  Gaul  once  came. 

The  lad  increased,  as  years  rollM  on, 

In  wisdom  and  in  grace, 
Until  a  great  transaction  did 

In  Europa  take  place ; 

The  Roman  army  had  swept  o'er 

The  world  from  east  to  west. 
And  many  nations  were  at  length 

By  slavery  oppress'd. 

No  longer  could  the  polish'd  Greek 

Immortalize  his  name, 
Standing  upon  the  bema,  there 

Man's  freedom  to  proclaim. 

In  vain  Leonidas  had  fought 

At  the  pass  Thermopylae,  t 
In  vain  were  many  battles  won— - 

Greece  was  no  longer  free. 

Proud  Carthage  sent  her  ships  for  naught 

Against  the  Roman  braves ; 
Her  warriors  were  compell'd  to  yield, 

Her  citizens  made  slaves. 

Jerusalem  was  conquered. 

As  Jesufi  had  foretold. 
The  Romania  took  her  treasures  all, 

Her  silver  and  her  gold. 


Mi 

.  *  *  ■  ill 

W 


>'•'■  Ai 


m 


^^ 


f 


68 


Saint  Patrick. 


0   ■* 


^  m'i^ 


!■'  ^ 


No  nation  there  of  mortal  men 

Were  yet  remaining  free, 
From  Lybia^s  most  distant  sands 

E'en  to  the  German  sea. 

Though  far  beyond  the  German  bounds 

There  was  a  flowVy  land, 
That  ne'er  had  worn  a  foreign  yoke 

Nor  borne  the  tyrant's  hand. 

Already  A!bion  was  call'd 

A  part  of  mighty  Rome, 
Her  sons  had  tamely  given  up 

Their  freedom  and  their  home. 

But  Erin's  heroes  then  preserved 
Their  country  from  her  fall, 

They  rallied  round  their  gallant  chief, 
Their  king— the  brave  Niall. 

They  sail'd  across  the  narrow  strait 
To  join  the  mountaineers,  / 

Who  dwelt  in  Caledonia, 
Despising  coward  fears. 

Nor  did  they,  like  the  Albions,  yield 

Before  th'  invaders'  face, 
But  each  one  swore  to  die,  or  save 

His  country  from  disgrace. 

The  Roman  legions  could  not  stand 

Such  valor  and  such  might. 
That  army,  which  had  conquer'd  oft, 

Was  scatter'd  now  in  flight, 


I 


Saint  Patrick, 


69 


The  Romnn  host  left  Albion's  shore, 

Pursued  by  Erin's  chief 
Until  they  came  to  southern  Gaul, 

Where  they  obtainM  relief. 

Instead  of  staying  there  to  fight 
The  Gallic  force  of  Rome,  ' 

The  chieftain  with  his  captive  band 
Prepared  for  going  home. 

But  as  the  snow-white  sails  were  spread 

To  leave  the  land  of  Gaul; 
Oh !  sad  indeed  it  is  to  tell, 

A  vassal  slew  Niall. 

It  was  the  year  three  eighty-nine, 
When  they  arrived  at  home. 

And  in  that  weepins  captive  band 
The  lad  Souchet  had  come. 

He  was  a  foreign  heathen's  slave. 

Who  never  yet  had  heard 
Of  Jesus,  who  had  died  for  all. 

Nor  ofHis  Holy  Word. 

While  in  the  woody  mountain  tops. 

He  did  ihe  cattle  tend; 
Unto  his  God  and  Savior  there, 

He  many  prayers  would  send,    v 

And  while  it  was  commanded  him, 

For  herds  of  swine  to  care. 
He  was  engaged  both  day  and  night 

In  long  and  fervent  prayer.  ^ 


it;: 


Ip 


'      *■. 


?  I' 


^'  i 


11 

1 

If, 

1 

^i. 

|:j 

M 

70  jSfain^  Patrick. 

Whene'er  be  laid  him  down  to  sleep 
Or  when  he  woke  by  night, 

Oft  pious  musings  of  his  mind 
To  heaven  took  their  flight. 

While  thus  in  fasting  and  in  prayer 

He  spent  his  servitude, 
His  tender  mind  with  love  of  God 

Most  deeply  was  imbued. 

Affliction  was  to  him  a  source, 

Of  blessings  from  above. 
For  while  he  bore  his  cross  with  Christ, 

His  God  he  learn'd  to  love. 

The  Lord  of  heaven  kindly  smiled 

Upon  this  gracious  boy, 
Who  suffer'd  with  a  Christian  mind 

And  with  a  holy  joy. 

Thus  far  from  native  land  and  home, 

Upon  the  mountains  wild, 
God  breathed  on  this  humble  slave 

And  mark'd  him  as  his  child. 

Then  while  exposed  to  rain  and  i^now, 

In  darkness  or  in  light, 
God  shielded  from  all  injury 

And  guided  him  aright,  f 

Like  Joseph  in  a  foreign  land. 

Upright  he  was  and  just, 
To  Bufrer  and  to  love  his  God, 

If  suffer  there  he  must. 


♦ 


Saint  Patrick. 


71 


But  God  is  ever  near  at  hand 

To  rescue  the  oppressed, 
To  save  his  children  when  they  cry 

And  when  they  are  distress'd. 

Souchet  was  now  just  twenty-two, 

Six  years  had  past  away ; 
He  left  his  cruel  masrar's  house 

Upon  a  certain  day. 

He  came  beside  the  ocean's  strand ; 

A  ship's  about  to  sail ; 
He  left  the  shore  of  Erin's  isle,       * 

Borne  by  a  fav'ring  gale. 

But  soon  the  winds  grow  boisterous 

And  raging  billows  raise, 
So  that  to  gain  the  Gallic  land 

It  takes  three  gloomy  days. 

And  then  o'er  mountain,  hill  and  dale 

For  thirty  days  he  goes, 
Ere  he  at  home  arrives  again, 

There  to  enjoy  repose. 

Now  when  among  his  cherish'd  friends 

He'd  been  about  two  years, 
Unto  his  mind,  vail'd  in  deep  sleep, 

A  vision  there  appears. 

Like  Paul  from  Macedonia, 

From  Ireland  he  heard 
The  people's  messenger  to  say, 

'*  Come  here  and  preach  the  Word.** 


1'^  '  . 


72 


Saint  Patrick. 


■t  i) » 


k: 


The  youth  amazed  awoke  from  Bleep, 
He  thought  upon  th'  affair, 

And  ever  after  was  intent 
To  preach  the  Gospel  there. 

For  gaining  more  experience 

And  to  enrich  his  mind, 
To  traverse  foreign  countries  o'er 

He  was  at  first  incl'^ed. 

Saint  Martin  then  advised  him. 

Where  he  had  better  go 
Afld  ii^at  was  most  important  for 

A  holy  priest  to  know. 


To  Albion  he  first  repaired, 
Where  he's  enslaved  again. 

Yet  he  in  bondage  there  remaiu'd, 
But  fifly  days  and  ten. 


'  I 


For  with  some  comrades  his  escape 

Most  luckily  was  made, 
Although  he  slept  upon  the  ground 

And  on  wild  honey  fed. 

Like  to  the  prophets  of  the  Lord, 
Who  did  once  dwell  in  caves, 

All  hardships  he  by  faith  endures 
And  greatest  danger  braves. 

At  length  he  gains  his  native  town 

By  chances  opportune, 
Where  he  remains  in  happiness 

The  pleasant  month  of  June. 


%if'^ 


Saint  Patrick. 


73 


Tb^^n  he  prepares  to  leave  his  home 

For  the  Italian  shore, 
Where  he  might  with  St.  German  dwell 

O'er  manuscripts  to  pore ; 

To  learn  the  customs  of  those  men, 
Who  first  the  Gospel  taught, 

Who  saw  the  miracles  that  Paul, 
And  that  our  Savior  wrought ; 

To  learn  the  nature  of  mankind, 

And  in  what  way  he  might 
Best  to  a  heathen  nation  preach 

To  spread  the  Gospel  light, 

And  how  the  faithful  best  were  kept 
Safe  from  the  Devil's  snares, 

Free  from  the  wiles  of  wicked  men 
And  from  corrupting  cares. 

He  dwelt  at  Rome  about  six  years 

To  study  sacred  lore, 
When  in  a  ship  he  left  behind 

Italia's  sunny  shore. 


fe: 


Thence  sailing  to  a  little  isle 
In  the  Turonian  sea, 

He  lived  among  the  hermi 
From  worldly  cares  set  free. 


re, 


Here  he  received  the  famous  staff, 

Which  histories  ri-late 
Was  at  the  port  of  Dublin  buriil 

In  fifteen  thij-t^-eight. 


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74  SfaiW  Patrick. 

He  went  to  Albion  then  with 

Segetius  his  friend, 
Whose  object  was  of  errors  there 

To  make  a  speedy  end. 

About  this  time  Pallaidus 

From  Ireland  retired, 
And  soon  among  his  cherish'd  friends, 

In  quiet  he  expired. 

A  faithful  preacher  long  was  he,         7. 

Yet  he  could  not  withstand 
The  fierceness  of  the  heathens'  rage 

In  that,  then  barbarous  land. 

A  few  believed  and  were  baptized, 

And  writers  most  agree, 
That  just  before  he  left  the  isle, 

He  founded  churches  three. 

Souchet  now  heard  this  land  was  left 
In  darkness  and  in  gloom,, 

He  calls  to  mind  that  wondrous  dream 
And  turns  his  step^  to  Rome. 

He  tells  the  Pope  the  mournful  news. 
And  how  when,  that  he  heard, 

His  soul  within  him  burnM  to  go 
And  preach  God's  Holy  Word. 

The  Pope  declarad  it  should  be  done. 

Whatever  he  desired, 
Because  such  pious  sentiments 

His  fervent  mind  inspired. 


y  i' 


Saint  Patrick. 


76 


His  name  was  changed  to  Patricus, 

Or  Patrick  as  say  we, 
Since  he  a  father  in  the  church 

In  future  was  to  be. 

He  was  ordain'd  a  holy  priest 

In  the  year  four  thirty-one, 
Soon  after  which  on  Erin's  isle 

His  ministry  began. 

He  landed,  borne  by  favVing  gales, 

Upon  that  heathen  shore 
With  faithful  comrades  and  true  friends 

In  number  thirty- four. 

Saint  Patrick  preachM  "  not  as  the  scribes," 

But  like  a  man  that  knew, 
The  things  whereof  he  spoke  to  them 

To  be  divine  and  true. 

He  told  them  how  that  Christ  had  died 

A  ruinM  world  to  save. 
And  how  that  God  had  raised  him  up 

The  third  day  from  the  grave. 

His  earnest  and  persuasive  words 

Sunk  deep  in  ev'ry  heart, 
In  that  salvation,  which  he  preach'd, 

Each  one  desired  a  part 

The  first,  who  ari^M  with  zeal  to  know 
What  God  would  have  him  do, 

Was  of  a  royal  Iiiah  race, 
A  genVous  soul  and  true. 


.V''''! 
'.,:-i| 


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1 

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iit 

76 


Saint  Patrick. 


ri 


|:'||iii| 


His  name,  Sinell  is  placed  among 

The  men  of  Ireland, 
Whose  pious  lal)ors  evermore 

Iq  bold  relief  will  stand. 

In  vain  did  cruel  Nathi  rage 

With  insult  and  with  jeer; 
Saint  Patrick  preachM  the  Cross  of  Christ 

Not  knowing  how  to  fear. 

Those,  who  at  first  had  threatened  him, 
Were  brought  to  grief  and  tears. 

And  soon  they  thank'd  the  Saint  that  spoke 
The  Gospel  in  their  ears. 

But  when  he  came  to  Rath-Inbher 

Upon  the  river  Bray, 
The  pagans  of  those  parts  arose, 

And  Patrick  drove  away. 

From  thence  he  sailM  toward  the  north, 

And  when  he  drew  to  land. 
The  king  supposed  his  ship  to  bear 

A  roving  pirate  band ; 

And  with  a  force  of  armed  men 

He  hastened  to  the  bay, 
Saint  Patrick  and  his  little  crew, 

With  full  intent  to  slay ; 

Yet  with  his  saintly  visage  struck, 

Dichu  in  silence  stood, 
While  Patrick  preach'd  to  him  the  Cros9 

And  taught  him  iVom  God's  word. 


Saint  Patrick, 


77 


The  chief  believed  with  all  his  heart 
And  changed  his  wicked  plan, 

In  Jesus'  nanne  he  put  his  tru^t 
VVith  all  his  faithful  clan. 

Thus  then  he  brought  a  heathen  tribe, 

A  stern  and  mighty  foe, 
From  bowing  down  to  idols  dumb 

The  living  God  to  know. 

The  king  then  set  apart  the  ground 
Where  first  he  heard  the  Word, 

To  be  a  consecrated  place 
To  build  a  church  of  God. 

Saint  Patrick  now  recalM  to  mind 

The  master  of  his  youth, 
And  thitherward  he  bent  his  steps 

To  teach  the  way  of  truth. 

He  blotted  from  his  pious  mind 
The  wrongs  he'd  sufFer'd  there, 

And  that  God  also  would  forgive 
Was  his  most  fervent  prayer. 

But  when  his  master  Milcho  heard 

How  many  had  believed, 
That  his  own  slave  should  preach  to  him 

This  proud  man  greatly  grieved. 

He  rear'd  a  costly  fun'ral  pile 

According  to  his  pride. 
On  which  before  his  weeping  friends 

A  heathen  death  he  died. 


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78  SairU  Patrick. 

When  of  this  rash  and  shocking  deed 

The  great  Apostle  hears, 
He  for  three  mournful  hours  stands 

In  silence  and  in  tears. 

Although  for  Milcho's  death  he  grieved 
His  labors  there  were  crown'd, 

For  Milcho's  children  soon  believed 
And  Christ,  their  Savior  found. 

Southward  again  he  turnM  his  course 
As  far's  the  Bregian  plain, 

Where  many  converts  to  the  Cross 
He  thought  that  he  might  gain ; 

For  then  there  was  a  festival, 

A  noted  one,  and  great, 
Which  all  the  people  with  the  king 

At  Easter  celebrate. 

There  was  a  custom  at  that  time, 
That  not  ablaze  might  rise 

Before  the  bonfire  of  the  king 
Should  tower  to  the  skies. 

Now  Patrick  builds  his  morning  fire 

As  he  was  wont  to  do. 
Which  when  the  Druids  did  behold 

Unto  the  king  they  flew, 

And  told  him  how  there  was  a  fire 
Which  blazed  before  his  own, 

And  that  the  builder,  if  it  burn'd 
Would  take  away  his  crown. 


Saifnt  Patrick. 


79 


The  king  despatch'd  his  messengenii 

Who  in  the  shortest  time 
Should  bring  the  Saint  before  bis  face 

To  answer  for  the  crime. 

He  also  gave  a  stern  command, 
That  all  men  should  despise 

The  stranger  who  had  done  the  deed 
Nor  from  their  seats  arise; 

But  Ere  the  son  of  Dego  rose 

And  gave  the  Saint  a  seat, 
Nor  would  he  for  the  king's  command 

The  holy  man  illtreat; 

This  young  man  of  a  noble  mind 

A  bishop  soon  was  made, 
While  for  that  kind  and  genVous  act 

His  fame  shall  never  fade. 

The  Saint  appearM  before  the  king 

Both  grave  and  dignified, 
Yet  to  excuse  himself  for  crime, 

He  there  in  nowise  tried. 

Nor  did  the  king  condemn  the  Saint, 
But  listenM  while  he  taught 

Of  that  L^alvation  which  to  earth 
By  Jesus  Christ  was  brought. 

The  courtiers  and  the  nobles  wise. 
The  Druids  and  the  queen 

To  hear  Saint  Patrick  as  he  spoke 
In  silent  awe  were  seen. 


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80  Saint  Tatrick. 

Thus  many  with  the  king  believed 
In  what  the  stranger  taught, 

And  in  his  Savior  for  a  hope 
Most  earnestly  they  sought. 

Now  when  he  had  baptized  them, 

He  lefl  that  happy  place, 
Imploring  God  to  keep  them  all 

By  his  sustaining  grace. 

From  there  he  came  to  Talten  mount 
Where  he  baptized  the  king 

And  many  others  that  to  God 
He  did  by  preaching  bring. 

In  Meath  and  Louth  he  spent  the  year 

Four  hundred  thirty-four, 
Converting  and  baptizing  there 

Of  heathen  many  a  score. 

Saint  Patrick  soon  had  visited 

The  isle  in  every  part, 
Baptizing  many  a  prince  and  king 

Converting  many  a  heart, 

Hundreds  of  churches  he  had  built 
Where  preachers  were  ordain'd. 

Who  in  each  village  and  each  town, 
When  he  had  gone,  remain'd. 

Now  when  he  had  established 
The  churches  firm  and  well, 

He  went  away  to  distant  Rome 
A  full  report  to  tell,     i 


Saint  Patrick. 

Each  Christian  there  was  pleased  to  learn 

Of  his  so  great  success, 
And  how  the  land  to  which  he'd  been 

The  Lord  did  greatly  bless. 

Soon  he  retiirnM  to  Ireland 

To  spend  his  latter  days 
Where,  on  the  churches  he  had  built 

He  might  with  pleasure  gaze, 

Among  the  people  he  had  led 
From  darkness  and  from  night, 

To  see  the  presence  of  the  Lord 
In  clear  and  shining  light. 

He  lived  in  happiness  and  peace 

At  Armagh  and  at  Saul, 
Attending  to  the  schools  he  form''d 

And  to  the  churches'  call. 

Upon  the  sev  "nteenth  day  of  March 
In  the  year  ibur  ninety-three, 

From  all  the  cares  and  toils  of  life 
Saint  Patrick  was  set  free. 

All  Erin's  isle  deplored  his  losa 

As  one  who  gave  them  life. 
Who  saved  them  from  eternal  woe 

And  from  all  civil  strife. 

His  name  is  now  a  household  word 

Upon  that  island,  where 
The  p]>urches  of  the  living  God 

Were  first  to  hi»n  a  care. 

6 


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82       Do  as  I  Do  and  You  are  Safe. 


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His  death  they  now  commemorate 
With  prayer  year  after  year, 

As  one  who  saved  their  ancestors  . 
From  many  a  grief  and  tear. 


Each  village  now  can  show  a  c'urch, 
Which  bears  Saint  Patrick's  i.ame 

And  that  will  to  the  latest  age 
Hand  down  his  spotless  fame. 

Long  live  his  name  among  those  men, 

Who  laborM  for  their  race, 
V«  hose  holy  lives,  illustrious  deeds 

Did  decorate  and  grace. 

Then  let  us  hold  his  memVy  dear, 
His  deeds  tell  o'er  and  o'er;      ' 

For  it  was  he  who  taught  God's  word 
Upon  fair  Erin's  shore. 


,'•:!  j^. 


DO  AS  I  DO  AND  YOU  ARE  SAFE. 

There  was  a  custom  many  years  ago,         J 

(At  leasK  the  fathers  tell  the  children  so,) 

When  harvest  came  and  crops  now  waving  stand 

As  'twere  t'  invite  the  sturdy  farmer's  hand 

To  take  the  sickle,  and  the  garner  fill 

With  grains,  that  grow  on  ev'ry  plain  and  hill. 

For  laborers  to  buy  a  little  **  sprite  " 

To  make  them  feel  both  vigorous  and  right; 

Intending  sure  quite  temperate  to  be, 

Despising  all  a  drunken  man  to  see ; 


Do  as  I  Do  and  You  are  Safe.       83 

Since  each  alone  would  say,  as  he  would  sigh, 
"I  fear  my  neighbor  will  a  drunkard  die." 
Three  jolly  farmers  went  afield  one  morn, 
When  each  had  taken  an  o'erflowing  "  horn;" 
And  as  the  sun  pourM  down  his  melting  fire. 
Each  one  grew  hotter,  an/i  of  course  was  dryer, 
Until  the  bumpers,  round  and  round  again,  i  , 
Caused  each  to  stagger  with  a  dizzy  brain ; 
And  as  they  went  on  binding  up  the  wheat, 
Each  did  in  turn  their  friend  Joe  Tompkins  meet. 
The  first,  old  Hij^hlands,  met  Vith  ruddy  Joe, 
Who  with  a  smile,  presents  a  graceful  bow 
And  says,  "  the  weather  is  both  hot  and  dry 
All  things  are  thirsty,  gracious !  so  am  I." 
They  look,  and  lo!  across  the  wheaten  field, 
Davis  and  Crowell  like  young  children  reel'd. 
Then  Highlands  takes  a  "  horn  "  with  blushing  Joe 
And  gravely  says  as  he  prepares  to  go, 
\^^  If  I  covMnH  drink  HhotU  drinking  thus,  too  much, 
A  drop  of  rum  Pd  never  deign  to  touch  J* 

'.  Soon  Davis  came  along  with  staggVing  gait 
I  And  Joe's  best  health  he  asked  him  to  state. 
Joe  says,  *'  I'm  tough  but  sad  in  truth  to  know 
Highlands  and  Crowell  should  both  stagger  so. " 
Davis  did  quick  unto  his  work  then  hie, 
I  As  he  with  coolness  made  the  same  reply : 
I"  JflcouldnU  drink  Hhoui  drinking  thus,  too  much, 
•^  drop  of  rum  Fd  never  deign  to  touxh,^ 
Now  Thompson  met  the  other  reeling  wight, 
Poor  Crowell,  who  was  in  a'sadder  plight, 
For  when  he  stoop'd  to  bind  the  pliant  band,  ,] 
Headlong  he'd  fall  into  the  stifling  sand; 
Nop  speaks  to  Crowell  in  his  blandest  way 
And  did  to  him  with  solemn  air  thus  say: 


}  ,11 


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84 


One'^8  Jfative  Land, 


*<  How  Davis  staggers  and  as  Highlands  goes, 
The  sand  he  roots  oft  with  his  blushing  nose. 
Oh !  what  a  shame !  for  men  to  get  so  **  tight," 
£'en  while  the  sun  is  not  yet  to  his  height." 
Then  Crowell  tottering,  leans  against  the  fence 
And  for  replying  he  did  thus  commence: 
^  Oft  I  have  seen  such  foolish  men  as  they, 
Who  throw  their  lives  and  property  away, 
Not  knowing  how  like  me  to  drink  aright 
To  raise  their  spirits  and  increase  their  might; 
For  coM  I  not  drink^thovi  drinking  too  much 
A  drop  of  rum  Vd  never  deign  to  touch." 


m 


.-•i'v 


M 

m 
J'fi 


X'-'.:.i' 


ONE'S  NATIVE  LAND. 


There  is  a  charm  around  the  place, 

Where  first  we  breathed  the  vital  air; 
That  spot  possesses  ev'ry  grace 

And  ev'rything,  that  we  call  fair. 
The  garden,  whero  we  used  to  walk, 

Led  by  a  loving  mother's  hand 
And  where  we  first  began  to  talk,  " '  ' 

Endears  us  to  our  father-land. 

Those  fields,  in  childhood,  where  we  playM 

And  gayly  cull'd  the  fairest  flowVs, 
Where  kites  and  tiny  ships  were  made 

For  sport  by  us  in  childish  hours; 
That  well  known  rock  and  oaken  tree. 

Which  gentle  zephyrs  often  fann'd ; 
The  very  brook  tnat  laved  the  lee. 

All  make  us  love  our  father-land. 


One^s  JVative  Land. 

The  Esquimaux,  in  Northern  snows,      -^j 

Who  lives  beneath  the  frozen  ground, 
Is  happy,  when  the  rough  wind  blows. 

And  loves  to  hear  its  whistling  sound; 
He  loves  his  subterranean  home  .;  - 

With  roof  and  walls  of  yellow  sand  ' 
And  lofty  icebergs  for  its  dome —  .m 

He  dearly  loves  his  father-land,      ,,j^% 

The  stern  Norwegian  loves  the  ice, 

That  ev'ry  little  lake  enshrouds. 
Among  the  mountains,  as  rhey  rise 

Towards  the  overhanging  clouds ; 
He  loves  to  hunt  Jhe  sleepy  bear. 

With  gleaming  dagger  in  his  hand 
Prepared  to  draw  him  from  his  lair— - 

Qe  too  doth  prize  his  father-land,  i^ 

■■•    ..  Nil; 

The  sable  Ethiopean 

Admires  his  land,  so  fair  and  warm. 
And  not  another  on  earth  can 

Present  to  him  so  great  a  charm;  ' 
He  loves  the  blazing  of  the  sun. 

Though  it  has  him  so  darkly  tann'd 
And  when  away.  Ah!  he  is  one. 

That  pines  to  see  his  father-land. 

V      <tv     A. 

Wherever  on  the  globe  we  roam,    t 

Although  content  we  learn  to  live,  >ti 
We  can  but  think  of  childhood's  home. 

The  like  to  which,  earth  cannot  give ; 
And  when  we  strive  it  to  forget. 

Our  thoughts  we  can't  command 
For  if  we  would,  or  would  not  let,     *t4 

They'll  seek  again  our  father-land.^ 


85 


:»i1 


SiiU 


p  •■If; 


A     •     is! 


'ii  k 


86 


A  WirUer  Morning, 


^y:t  J 


!i  ii  ?B 


111 


Pi!;' 


m 


frri 


4 1 


We  ne'er  shall  find  such  lovely  hills, 

As  those  upon  which  we  were  born, 
Unless  hard  by,  the  very  rills 

Flow  just  the  same  alons  the  lawn ; 
Our  thoughts  of  home  we'll  tie'er  divorce, 

Upon  what  island,  mount  or  strand; 
Not  till  streams  flow  toward  their  source 

Can  we  forget  our  father-land. 


,  ■•>  <** 


(■,'- 


A  WINTER  MORNING. 

(Written  for  the  Albany  Evening  Transcript.) 

Across  the  beaten  pavement  ^ 

The  winds  of  Winter  blow ; 

The  crowded  way  of  State  street 
Is  scntter'd  o'er  with  snow» 

I  sit  me  down  to  wonder 
And  view  the  busy  throng, 

I  witness  scenes  of  virtue,        .^.  > 
I  witness  deeds  of  wrong.       !  . 

For  trading  in  the  city. 

The  farmer  from  afar  ^    ^ 

Departeth  from  his  loved  home 

By  light  of  morning  star,         i.i 

Lest  he  too  late  should  enter  m;.^  ^ 

The  over  crowded  street, 
And  thus  might  fail  in  selling 

His  fowls  so  plump  and  neat;      ^ 


ill 


rM 


The  Serpent. 


87 


While  through  the  clear  and  cold  air 
The  echoing  sound  doth  roll, 

From  morn  till  eve  resounding, 
The  well  known  word,  c-o-o-a-1. 

The  "  biped  "  with  his  lightwood, 
The  matron  with  her  fruit; 

One  strives  to  sell  by  shoutingi 
The  one  by  keeping  mute,  c 

Thus  men  in  truth  are  seeking 
One  and  the  same  great  gain; 

This,  by  his  skill  in  speaking, 
This,  by  his  silent  pen. 

Yet  who  can  chide  the  pedler?  , 
And  who  but  love^  to  buy,  ^"[ 

When  by  a  trifling  purchase,      y 
He'll  hush  the  orphan's  sigh  i 


i;i-t 


1^- 


j't.:-'':." 


■  '■■'■-.'£i 


,.,  THE  SERPENT.  , 

The  flowers  and  bushes 

The  snake  creeps  between, 
^  The  mark  for  a  poker 
^     Where'er  he  is  seen. 

The  valleys  and  meadows 
Are  not  safe  for  him, 

Nor  are  lakes  and  rivers 
)[a  which  he  may  swim. 


■'.  .cm 


PI 


v\m 


i  m 


88 


JVorth&m  Lights. 


I'  I 


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U '   1' ' 


!■ 


IV    .  ♦ 


m 


m 


But  prone  on  his  belly 
fn  dust  he  must  walk, 

While  all  his  proud  neighbors 
Most  haughtily  stalk. 

The  dust  is  his  breakfast, 
His  stern  foes  are  rife, 

The  dews  are  his  nectar, 
Yet  short  is  his  life ; 

For  meii  always  kill  him 

Wherever  they  can, 
Since  one  snake  was  cursed 

For  ruining  man. 

And  while  we  are  zealous 
The  cursed  snake  to  slay. 

Let  each  one  remember, 
We're  cursed  e*en  as  they. 


NORTHERN  LIGHTS. 

Along  the  gleaminff  heavens  glow 
Bright  flashes,  like  they  were  fire, 

Now  blazing  o'er  the  northern  snow. 
Than  even  Hecla's  top  far  high'r. 

As  two  contending  armies  move  ^ 
The  battb  field  along  in  fight,  r^ 

So  these  across  the  arch  above     '  ^ 
Are  passing  with  a  splendid  light. 


»'!' 


Sunrise. 


89 


« ■    < 


As  'twere,  along  the  sky  is  heard 
The  peal  of  cannon  and  of  drum, 

And  given  to  a  host  such  word, 
As  from  a  leader  stem,  would  come. 

These  lights  were  once  supposed  to  be 
The  omens  of  some  direful  woe. 

And  each  who  did  them  chance  to  see. 
Then  trembled  for  the  coming  blow. 

But  since  th'  immortal  Kane  has  been, 
Where  he  these  blazes  could  inspect 

And  has  the  polar  icebergs  seen. 
From  which  the  sun^s  cold  rays  reflect; 

It  has  been  ascertain'd  as  true, 
That  these  lights  are  reflected  rays, 

Foreboding  mnn  no  fate  to  rue 
Or  cause  for  fewer  or  worse  days. 


>-):i 


■,V*".  J 


li. 


IPi 


..■;;-;jr.(..-- ;  '■> 


•<j 


.- .  1' 


SUNRISE. 

The  stars  are  now  deserting 
Their  posts  in  yonder  sky. 

The  pale-faced  moon  is  fading. 
As  onward  she  doth  hie. 

The  sky-blue  tints  are  yielding 
To  give  their  place  for  red, 

Before  the  sunlight  darkness, 
In  terror,  swift  has  fled. 


:■■  -.s 


i 

1 

1 

JPr  '' 

j, !' 

il  ^ 

1 

M 

iL' 

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H 

90 


Our  Faults. 

Upon  the  distant  hillside, 
As  on  the  panes  we  gaze, 

It  seems  as  though  the  village 
Was  in  a  raging  blaze. 

'i  he  bobolink  is  singing 
With  robin  and  blue  jay, 

Now  heartily  rejoicing 
To  see  another  day,  ; ;    ' 

The  fog  is  slowly  rising 
Above  the  winding  rill, 

That  evVy  night  stops  flowing 
To  wait  the  farmer's  mill. 

The  flocks  begin  to  wander 
In  quest  of  sweetest  feed. 

Which  grows  upon  the  border 
Of  th'  honcysuckled  mead 

To  see  these  sights,  how  pleasing 
And  lovely  to  the  eyes, 

O !  happy 's  one  in  viewing 
The  glories  of  Sunrise. 


^''ir*      m  .■*•- 


,  V  iv 


OUR  FAULTS. 


When  first  this  wide  extending  land  was  found, 
A  party  of  adventurers  set  out 
In  quest  of  wealth,  far  in  the  western  wilds, 
Where  savage  men  alone  had  dwelt  before, 
Who  valued  glittVmg  gold  with  light  esteem; 
While  wandering  among  Virginia's  woods, 


Our  Faults. 


91 


age 


t 
I 

ier 
i 

easing 


fevVy  native  that  they  chanced  to  meet, 

fluiries  oft  were  made  for  mines  of  gold. 

lie  natives  knew  no  mines  of  shining  ore 

y  plainly  told  the  zealous  seekers  so ; 

btthey  believed,  all  who  declared  that  thing, 

[gpenk  a  falsehood  to  deceive  the  band, 

bat  they  might  not  their  hoarded  trensures  find. 

ben  those,  who  told  such  unpropitious  tales, 

Ifere  cut  in  pieces  and  their  flesh  to  dogs 

ras  thrown,  before  the  horror  stricken  few, 

bo  yet  remainM  to  tell  all  that  they  knew 

[especting  gold.    When  they  the  sight  beheld, 
ach  one  resolved  to  lie  and  save  his  flesh 

from  being  food  for  dogs,  if  thus  he  might. 

each,  who  lying  said  that  gold  was  found 
^yond  the  mountain  pass,  was  sent  away 

M  many  thanks  and  presents  rich  weigh'd  down. 

ks  they  were  led  to  traverse  far  and  wide 

The  wilderness  in  which  so  many  fell, 

tot  having  found  the  mine  they'd  sought  so  long. 

fbose,  who  then  told  th'  unwelcome  trvXh,  were  slain, 

rhose,  who  the  pleasing  lie,  were  laid  with  gifts. 

So  'tis  to  day.   Our  country  shouts,  *'  God  bless  the 


man 


w 


m 


l^hen  he  with  zeal  doth  sing,  or  speak,  or  write 
)ur  famous  virtues,  noble  deeds  and  wealth ; 
Jut  when  a  man  records  our  many  crimes^ 
riiat  cry  to  Heaven  from  the  very  ground, 
Ihiss  of  scorn  bursts  from  the  nation's  lips.  , 
fpon  illustrious  Independence  day 
ID  many  crowded  halls  and  palaces, 
file  gilded  rafters  echo  back  the  praise 
[Of  all  the  fathers  and  their  worthy  deeds, 
yhile  throbbing  hearts  within  our  bosoms  swell 
"o  think  that  we,  each  one,  are  children  born 


':-m 


In. 


M 


92 


Our  Faults. 


% 


'H. 


Wt' 


From  ancestors  so  noble  and  godlike. 

All  this  is  well ;  but  silent  why  pass  o*er 

Our  own  exploits  so  base  and  infamous  ? 

We  love  to  talk  of"  Blue  Laws*^  that  once  were, 

But  mention  not  the  "  Black  Laws'*  which  remain 

Indeed  not  on  the  statute  books  alone 

Of  "th'  other  section"  of  our  own  "  free  land," 

Where  millions  of  our  fellow  men  to  day 

Are  held  in  abject  slavery,  because, 

Forsooth,  God  gave  to  them  a  sable  skin. 

How  much  we  hear  of  common  schools,  where  all 

May  gratis  learn  to  cipher,  read  and  write; 

Even  to  foreign  lands  the  tale  has  spread, 

(For  lies,  when  georgeously  apparel'd,  fly 

With  speed  thrice  swifler  than  the  naked  truth.) 

But  there  'tis  stampM  with  its  peculiar  name. 

In  more  than  half  our  **  free  and  glorious''  laud. 

For  one  to  sav,  that  all  mankind  deserve 

The  right  of  n'eedom,  is  a  crime  so  great, 

That  exile  is  its  mildest  penalty. 

There,  teaching  children  is  a  greater  fault 

Than  blasphemy  in  its  most  shocking  form; 

To  teach  a  child  to  spell  his  very  name 

Is  an  offence  more  grave  than  larceny. 

There  slavery  is  firmly  thought  to  be 

Not  only  most  expedient,  but  fight. 

Where'er  opinions  so  revolting  hold 

And  sway  the  mind  of  any  populace, 

The  woeful  state  of  that  society 

Does  hardly  need  at  all  to  be  described ; 

For  scenes  of  horror  and  most  dreadful  crime 

Can  but  attend  opinions  so  debased. 

Let  not  the  ''  other  section  "  of  our  land 

Suppose  that  guilt  is  at  the  South  alone, 

Since  Afric's  sons  are  treated  at  the  North, 


Out  Faults. 


93 


[ot  quite  like  beasts  'tis  true,  but  not  like  men, 
lor  though  they're  born  and  bred  Americans, 
LyVo  look'd  upon  6^  law  os  Negroes  still, 
[nd  not  allowM  the  common  rights  indeed, 

bat  even  foreigners  in  full  enjoy. 

lor  are  the  people  better  than  their  laws, 

lit  rather  worse,  as  many  facts  declare. 

here  was  a  man,  (a  Negro  by  the  way,) 
be  foreman  of  an  iron  foundery, 
Ifho,  when  from  sweat  and  toil  he'd  gold  enough 
etermined  to  commence  alone  and  have 
I  foundry  of  his  own,  since  he  had  work'd 
many  tedious  years  for  other  men. 
shop  (not  quite  a  score  of  years  ago,) 
He  purchased  in  New  York,  and  lo!  a  mob 
)f  straight  hair'd  Anglo  Saxons  met 
Their  occupation  from  disgrace  to  save ; 
These  va/tanf  men  put  forth  a  stern  decree, 
That  not  a  founder  should  engage  to  work 
Uin  the  humble  Negro's  castmg  shop 
upon  the  sure  and  gravest  penalty. 
Then  marching  to  the  founder's  new  bought  shop, 
"ky  kindly  gave  to  him  the  chance  to  choose 
civil  coat  of  feathers  and  hot  tar 
)r  leave  that  holy^  pure  metropolis. 
iThe  mob  prevail'd  as  often  is  the  case 
pen  in  this  our  '^glorious  land  and  free.'' 
lAnd  yet  we  hear  the  question  sagely  ask'd, 
IWhy  Negroes  here  don't  act  like  other  men  ? 
ITbus  one  creeps  up  the  slippery  path  of  life, 
IA  score  of  Anglo  Saxons  knock  him  back, 
Ijn  whose  veins  course  no  drop  of  that  base  blood, 
IWhlch  is  to  other  men  that  fill  the  earth ; 
[But  as  they  think  God  made  them  fit  to  rule, 
6* 


l&kn 


'•'M 


!"   -ii 


i;t' 


94 


John  Cummings. 


As  slaves,  the  vile  and  common  herd  of  men. 
Let  not  such  vain  excuses  mock  the  slave, 
Such  blasphemies  insult  the  living  God.  v 
But  let  us  plainly  comprehend  the  tacf 
And  show  the  world  exactly  where  we  stand, 
Nor  shut  our  eyes,  that  we  see  not  the  truth. 
Nor  vainly  try  to  blind  those  of  the  world. 


"^^  ' 


JOHN   CUMMINGS. 

Upon  a  lovely  Autumn  day, 
Such  as  the  heart  could  wish, 

John  Cummings  and  his  brother  James 
Went  out  awhile  to  fish. 

While  seated  on  the  grassy  bank    '       , 

Besides  a  purling  stream, 
Across  their  uncorrupted  minds 

Flit  many  a  boyish  dream. 

They  think  of  home,  that  distant  isle 
Wash- d  by  Atlantic's  wave. 

They  speak  of  loved  ones  far  away 
And  of  a  father's  grave. 

And  AS  they  sit  conversing  there,     ''  ; 

Their  thoughts  to  heaven  rise, 
They  talk  of  friends  in  Ireland 

And  friends  in  paradise. 


vtr:. 


John  Cummings. 

Alas!  how  changed  that  pleasing  scene! 

Alas!  what  grief  and  woe 
Does  not  accursed  avarice  » 

Make  blinded  mortals  know  ? 

A  bloodhound  and  his  master  came, 

With  manners  not  urbane, 
Wiio  fear'd  these  humble  fishermen 

Would  thus  impair  his  gain.  '  ^ 

His  orders  for  departure  then,      \ 

Like  blazing  daggers  fly 
And  as  the  youths  prepare  to  leave, 

They  thoughtlessly  reply. 

Now  Stumpf,  at  what  the  youths  had  said, 

blnraged  beyond  compare, 
Sets  on  his  great  and  bloody  dog 

Th^  intruders'  flesh  to  tear. 

Obedient  to  the  dictates, 

That  Nature  ever  sends. 
One  strikes  the  brute  as  he  comes  up 

And  thus  himself  defends. 

Homeward  they  turn  their  hastening  steps, 

Each  grieving  in  his  heart, 
That  he  to  fish  in  Bethlehem 

Was  ever  led  to  start. 

But  how  astonished  when  they  saw 

With  Stumpf  four  other  men 
About  to  intercept  their  way,  ^ 

For  fighting  them  again. 


96 


¥. 


■     .tf' 


"I  \''a 


M 

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■  ■  t 

'     In' 
M  I 


I '.  •"' -I 


'm 


96  John  Cummings. 

James  says,  *'  O !  brother,  yonder  see ! 

Our  footsteps  they  pursue ! " 
While  scalding  tears,  now  flowing  fast, 

John's  pallia  face  bedew. 

Before  these  rash  and  angry  men 
Permit  the  youths  to  speak, 

They  knock  the  one  that  was  unarm'd 
Headlong  into  the  creek ; 

And  then  as  if  they  were  intent 

His  life  to  take  away. 
They  rush  upon  the  younger  lad, 

Then  trembling  with  dismay; 

He  strives  to  parry  all  their  blows, 
And  with  his  gun  defend 

His  life  and  limbs  from  every  thrust 
Their  greater  strength  could  send ; 

But  as  he  stands  upon  the  brink 

Contending  for  his  life, 
Alas!  his  gun  goes  off  just  then, 

And  ends  the  horrid  strife. 

John  said,  as  be  beheld  the  man 
Before  him  bleeding  lay, 

**  Oh !  that  my  hand  bad  withered 
Ere  I  had  seen  this  day, 

"  Then  I  had  never  held  the  gun 
That  caused  a  brother's  death— 

O !  that  I  could  restore  again 
This  mortal's  living  breath ! " 


John  Cummings. 

John  Cummings  was  arrested,  then, 

To  answer  for  this  crime, 
And  on  the  gallows  judged  to  die 

At  the  appointed  time. 

But  thanks  bo  to  our  ancestors, 

There  yet  remain'd  a  hope. 
Because  the  righteous  Governor 

Might  still  take  off  the  rope. 

The  Governor  did  save  the  boy 

From  such  a  cruel  fate, 
Yet  for  him  clemency,  or  death 

In  Sing  Sing  doth  await. 

Soon  may  he  meet  his  sister  dear 

And  brother  kind  and  true, 
To  cheer  that  lonely  family  ^,  ' - 

As  once  he  used  to  do. 

Soon  may  that  widowM  mother  have 

Her  well-beloved  boy, 
Restored  to  her,  to  be  in  age, 

A  solace  and  a  joy.  ., 

And  may  we  meet  him  once  again — 

Be  greeted  by  that  smile. 
Which  shows  a  kind  and  genVous  mind 

A  heart  that's  free  from  guile. 


97 


■■..■:# 


f' ' 


98 


H(ype. 


W 


HOPE. 

Hope  IS  the  solace  and  the  joy 
Of  men  in  ev'ry  state  of  life, 
Prolonging  bliss  without  alloy, 
E'en  giving  comfort  while  in  strife. 

However  hard  our  lot  may  be 
Or  thickly  fly  the  clouds  of  grief, 
Patience  and  Hope  will  set  us  free, 
Eager  to  bring  desired  relief. 

Hardships  and  trials  grievious  may 
Overtake  us  like  a  blasting  wind. 
Persuasive  Hope  with  shining  ray 
Ejects  them  harmless  from  the  mind. 

Hope  is  a  special  helping  friend 
Of  those  who  have  stern  ills  to  pass ; 
Preparing  gifts  to  all  to  send ; 
Ennobling  men  of  evVy  class. 

Hope's  ever  near  in  time  of  need. 
Our  pressing  evils  to  destroy ; 
Puts  off  our  woes  with  greatest  speed. 
Ekes  out  our  ev'ry  bliss  and  joy. 

Have  we  all  good  that  we  would  seek 
On  this  side  of  the  waiting  grave. 
Pathetic  Hope  is  heard  to  speak, 
Enticing  us  o'er  Jordan's  wave. 


r 


.■■I 


^  Husking. 


99 


r''Ji.r   4 


A  HUSKING. 

The  yellow  corn  is  gatherM 

And  heap'd  up  on  the  floor, 
The  hiiskers  are  assembled 
*    In  number  near  a  score. 

This  is  a  time  of  pleasure, 

Of  sterling  rustic  joys ; 
The  world  then  looks  the  fairest 

Beheld  by  farmers  boys. 

Now  when  they  all  are  husking. 
Laconic  jokes  they  crack, 

While  their  so  merry  shouting 
The  rafters  echo  back. 

Now  one  a  red  ear  finding 

Will  tell  a  thrilling  tale. 
How  girls  once  help'd  in  husking. 

So  ruddy  then,  and  hale ; 

To  whom,  it  chanced  most  happy. 
Such  red  ear  then  to  come. 

According  to  the  custom 
He  would  depart  **  to  Rome." 

Soon  all  the  corn  is  husked 
And  promptly  '<  carried  up ; " 

Then  they  prepare  rejoicing. 
With  merry  hearts  to  sup. 


VR"' 


4 


; 


'"! 


Jo-   VA 


'tl* 


t. 


l1 


typ^ 


100  Removal  of  the  French  from  Acadia, 

When  they  the  eve  have  passM  thus, 
With  coursers  fleet  aud  wain, 

They,  for  their  home  departing. 
Agreed  to  meet  again. 


REMOVAL  OF  THE  FRENCH  FROM 

ACADIA. 

i.' 

Near  were  St  Lawrence  mingles  witL  the  deep, 

A  little  tract,  almost  an  island  lies. 

There  once  Acadians  did  sow  and  reap 

In  peace  and  plenty  'neath  the  template  skies. 

Content  to  dwell,  with  forests  wild  around, 

In  happiness  although  in  solitude, 

Where  they  could  hear  Atlantic's  roaring  sound, 

Which  deeply  e'er  their  pious  minds  imbued 

With  thoughts  most  truly  grand  and  heavenly. 

And  symbolized  to  them  eternity. 

II. 

In  Spring,  they  hid  the  seed  beneath  the  ground 
Protected  from  the  sea  by  dikes  well-made; 
In  Autumn,  all  their  careful  toils  were  crown'd 
And  all  their  many  hardships  thrice  repaid 
By  more  than  fifty  fold  of  precious  wheat. 
That  most  abundant  grew  upon  the  mead 
And  grasses  in  their  fields  both  tall  and  sweet, 
With  which  their  rum'rous  flocks  and  herds  to  feed, 
When  the  inclement  winds  might  fiercely  blow 
And  meadows  lay  deep  buried  in  the  snow. 


n 
m 


Removal  of  the  French  from  Acadia.  101 


III* 

No  tax-collector  counted  their  herds  o'er, 
While  grazing  on  the  honeysuckled  lee. 
No  tithes  were  drawn  from  their  sufficient  store, 
Which  was  with  them  earn'd  by  and  for  the  free. 
No  magistrate  within  those  hamlets  dwelt; 
But  when,  by  chance,  some  slight  dispute  aroUe 
Between  those,  who  before  the  same  God  knelt, 
The  parish  priest  invited  brings  again  repose 
Among  that  Christian  people,  who  thus  lived 
Free  from  the  common  ills  of  life,  and  thrived. 


I 


IV. 

While  men  attend  the  fields  of  goldeii  corn 
And  thus  increase  the  growing  public  weal, 
Each  matron,  with  the  wool  just  shorn. 
Keeps  up  the  music  of  the  spinning  wheel, 
Preparing  garments  for  their  Winter's  use. 
They  heed  not  what  may  happen  o'er  the  sea, 
Scarce  noticing  the  most  momentous  news. 
Molested  not  by  foreign  war  and  strife 
They  lead  a  calm  and  peaceful  country  Y\%» 


■I 


I 


England  and  France  a  bloody  war  then  waged 

And  battles  fought  by  water  and  by  land. 

In  which  each  had  a  mighty  force  engaged 

And  was,  by  all  the  world,  most  anxious  scann'd. 

Across  the  ocean  not  alone  they  fought, 

But  many  ships  of  war  and  men,  afar 

By  vast  expense  of  gold  and  blood  were  brought 

T'  enrich  with  gore  fields  of  America. 

At  length  war  closed,  which  was  a  dismal  knell 

To  fair  Acadia,  that  to  Great  Britain  fell. 


e 


% 


I 


'AM 


102  Removal  of  the  French  Jrom  Acadia. 


fi 


VI. 

Proud  England  had  fore'er  been  wont  to  view 
Her  colonists  as  men  of  lower  caste, 
E'en  if  the  same  blood  coursed  their  veins,  'twas  true; 
Their  being  colonists,  their  name  would  blast 
Though  one  religion  was  to  both  and  speech. 
Yet  when  they  were  not  of  the  same  descent 
Nor  customs,  that  were  similar,  wouM  teach, 
From  slaves,  they  were  but  little  difierent 
And  must  witb][servile  patience  bear  the  yoke 
Or  for  their  freedom  strike  a  conq'ring  stroke. 


VII. 

The  sad  Acadians  were  sore  oppressed 
By  those,  whom  England  sent  to  rule  the  land. 
Thoir  goods  were  plundered  and  they  were  distressM 
With  wantoness  and  with  tyrannic  hand. 
They  were  controU'd  by  most  despotic  laws, 
And  by  their  cruel  rulers,  there,  enslaved 
Without  a  just  or  e'en  the  slightest  cause, 
Where  once,  a  free  land,  lovely  Fundy  laved. 
They  meekly  bore  the  oppressor's  savage  rod^ 
Connding  still  and  trusting  in  their  God. 

VIII. 

They  meekly  forged  the  chains,  their  limbs  to  bind* 
And  till'd  their  fertile  meadows  to  produce 
The  bread  on  which  their  stern  oppressors  dined. 
But  dungeons,  manacles  and  barbarous  abuse 
Could  not  those  firm  and  pious  men  compel. 
Their  fathers'  tried  religion  to  desert; 
For  more  they  fear'd  the  punishments  of  Hell 
Than  all,  themselves,  these  fiends  of  earth  could 
hurt; 


.J 


it ■■  M 


Removal  of  the  French  from  Acadia.  103 

And  since  in  their  old  way,  they  served  the  Lord 
They  were  indeed,  most  bitterly  abhorr'd. 

■  ■,_.        y    .  ,         I,    ,    >  ■       . 

IX. 

Their  rulers  coveted  their  fair  and  fertile  land 

And  longM  to  see  the  Acadians  away, 

Who  did  not  longer  'neath  the  tyrant's  hand 

Wish  in  oppression  there  to  stay. 

France,  then  forgetting  not  her  children's  woe, 

Besought  that  England  kindly  would  command 

Her  officers  "  to  let  the  people  go," 

Receiving  hence  the  much  desired  land, 

Which,  on  account  of  its  productive  soil, 

The  French  had  clear'd  with  vast  and  rigid  toil.  ,. ,. 

•  .«.-,-?-   ' 

Now  hauehty  England  sternly  did  refuse 
This  small  and  yet  to  them  important  boon; 
But  this  request,  alas,  was  the  excuse 
For  villainies  to  be  narrated  soon. 
Th'  Acadians  were  forced  to  yield  their  arms 
And  e'en  their  boats  possess'd  for  common  use, 
In  order  that  they  might  not  cause  alarms 
Nor  dare  revolt  from  barbarous  abuse. 
Thus  they  were  left  defenceless  and  alone 
Beneath  the  yoke  of  tyranny  to  groan. 

XI. 

An  edict  was  to  them  put  forth  at  length, 
That  they  should  meet  upon  a  certain  day. 
They  knew  full  well,  they  were  deprived  of  strength 
And  therefore  wish'd  most  carefully  t'  obey. 
Thus  all  were  then  assembled  in  each  town 
Within  their  consecrated  churches,  where 


li 


*-| 


■J 


'I 


.'.'f 


■  ::'0' 


104  Removal  of  the  French  from  Acadia. 

Before  their  God  they  often  had  bow'd  down 
Deliverance  to  ask  with  tear  and  pray'r. 
There  they  had  met  but  not  as  in  the  past, 
This  meeting  was,  on  earth,  to  be  their  last. 

XII.  '^ 

Down  in  the  harbor  many  transports  lay 
Awaiting  the  AcadL.^s  to  bear 
Far  from  their  loved  but  conquer'd  land  away 
To  different  and  distant  places,  where 
They  might  remain,  nor  e'er  again  return. 
Unto  each  church,  now  full  of  boys  and  men, 
The  soldiery  with  leaders  fierce  and  stern 
Came  for  their  captives,  just  as  when 
The  ancient  tyrant  'neath  the  eastern  sun 
Led  Israel  away  to  Babylon. 

XIIL 

The  youths  were  first  on  board  the  transports  led 

Between  the  weeping  and  the  praying  crowd 

Of  those,  with  whom  they  had  been  bom  and  bred, 

Invoking  blessings,  earnestly  and  loud, 

Upon  the  youthful  exiles'  heads,  as  they         / 

To  leave  their  lovely  native  land  repair; 

Nor  then  allow'd  a  moment  to  delay 

In  sailing  off— indeed  thev  knew  not  where; 

Their  parents,  friends  and  kindred  kind 

And  dear  Acadia,  to  leave  behind. 

^.--    fv  .  XIV.  -•  :■  ■  ■^'*--      ./ 

Soon  all  the  rest  in  painfiil  want  of  food, 
With  scanty  goods,  bade  Scotia  farewell,     ' 
As  they  embark'd  the  hostile  ships  on  board, 
'Mid  griefs,  my  pen  in  vain  would  strive  to  toll. 


/ 


,^ 


■i 


Surrender  of  William,  Walker.      106 

These  captives  then  were  scatter'd  on  the  ehorei 
Friendless,  along  the  country  far  and  near, 
As  beggars  oft,  were  they  from  door  to  door, 
Fiom  Cape  Cod  bay  down  even  to  Cape  Fear. 
ChiUken  from  parents  far  away  were  left, 
I  While  friends  were  long  of  dearest  friends  bereft 


...  ,j 


These  families  thus  robb'd  of  land  and  home 

Were  from  their  base  oppressors  free ; 

And  though  for  friends  they  o'er  the  country  roam, 

They  suffer  not  from  cruel  tyranny. 

Thus  better  far,  as  strangers  in  the  land,    ^ 

They  then  among  the  colonies  sojournM, 

Than  'neath  their  ruler's  domineering  hand. 

By  whom  they  were  fore'er  despised  and  spurn'd, 

Because,  forsooth,  they  had  a  difTrent  way 

Id  which  they  loved  to  worship  God  and  pray. 


^r 


1 


SURRi:.NDER  OF  WILLIAM  WALKER. 

Among  the  common  actions  ' 
Performed  by  common  men, 

We  see  uncommon  actions 
Attempted  now  and  then. 

We've  seen  an  Alexander 

A  world  of  men  enslave; 
We've  seen  the  great  Napoleon       '  ^ 

A  hundred  battles  brave; 


\, 


106      Surrender  of  William  Walker. 


i 

;  1 

I 


i,;-^' 


f 

.1 


We've  seen  our  nation's  freedom 

Won  by  a  Washington, 
Who  gain'd  a  crown  of  glory 

Although  a  yeoman's  son. 

But  while  we  view  the  great  deeds 
Those  famous  men  have  done, 

Names  of  the  unsuccessful 
Sink  in  oblivion.  ^       ;  > 

There  dwelt  in  Nicaragua, 

Beneath  the  tropic  sun, 
A  nation  rude  and  simple 

At  peace  with  ev'ry  one.    .. 

Thev  welcomed  to  their  borders 
The  merchant  with  his  store, 

With  whom  to  trade  their  gold  dust 
For  what  they  wanted  more. 

Thus  then  arose  a  commerce. 
That  did  in  note  advance. 

Until  the  hawk-eyed  Walker 
Look'd  thitherward  askance.    . 

(This  Walker  was  a  printer 

Of  talent  and  of  skill. 
Yet  better  far  was  fitted  , . 

A  soldier's  camp  to  fill ;   .  , 

H  ence  'twas  he  left  his  paper 

'Way  in  the  golden  state, 
And  went  afar  for  showing  ->.  ^ 

That  diabolic  trait. j 


/ 


Surrender  of  William  Walker.      107 

Then  first  a  chilling  horror 

Each  countenance  depicts, 
Just  as  'twas  with  our  fathers 

In  seventeen  sev*nty-six. 

A  certain  dread  and  terror 
Makes  each  one's  blood  congeal. 

Such  as  the  simple  natives 
Are  sometimes  wont  to  feel. 

fiut  when  they  view  their  children 

And  wives  they  hold  so  dear, 
They  know  not  that  emotion, 

Which  other  men  call/ear.  

The  natives  they  assemble 
T'  obey  their  chief's  command,  • 

Each  deeming  death  a  pleasure 
For  his  loved  father-land. 

They  meet  the  would-be  tyrant 

To  fight  for  home  and  all, 
Displaying  Spartan  valor, 

Jjike  Spartans,  many  fall. 

Th'  invader  takes  their  villas 

By  stratagem  and  skill. 
Their  palaces  to  plunder. 

Each  patriot  to  kill. 

If  art  assists  the  ruffian 

To  butcher  and  to  steal,  '  «  ' 
Kind  nature  by  her  forests 

Does  innocence  conceal. 


^ 


■* 


* 


fi 


if  I 


Wm 


1  i  ^<i' 


108      Surrender  of  William  Walker. 

Therefore  the  conquer'd  natives 
Escape  the  tyrant's  hand, 

Who  could  not  by  his  cunning 
The  wilderness  command. 

They  then  call  on  their  neighbori, 
No  cue  of  whom  disdains 

To  suve  a  falling  nation 
From  slavery  and  chains. 

Once  more  the  brave  allied  force 
Attacks  the  pirate  band, 

Expelling  Gen'ral  Walker 
From  their  beloved  land. 

The  Gen'ral  now  defeated 
Had  to  hard  quarters  come 

And  as  the  last  resort  sends 
His  ragged  soldiers  home.  ' ' 

Then  to  redeem  his  honor 

And  satisfy  his  pride, 
To  raise  another  army, 

Our  hero  quickly  tried. 

According  to  the  proverb. 
That  '*  fools  are  not  all  dead," 

A  numVous  crowd  of  loafers 
To  Walker's  standard  fled. 

Some  seeking  w«alth  by  plunder 
And  some  in  hope  of  fame. 

Although  their  ends  are  diff'rent, 
The  means  they  use,  the  same. 


^  '.I 


Gold. 


109 


When  they  got  to  Nic'ragua, 
A  commodore  ha^  oome, 

Beneath  the  spangled  banner 
To  take  the  pirates  home. 

Thus  ends  the  second  conquest 
Of  Walker  and  his  troops,  > 

A  lesson  to  such  heroes 
And  all  their  brainless  dupes. 


GOLD. 


Why  rush  the  citizens  so  fast  along, 

Nfot  heeding  boistrous  winds  and  howling  storm, 

When  famine  fierce,  nor  war  the  land  infests, 

But  perfect  peace  in  ev'ry  part  pervades? 

lask'd;  a  man  went  brushing  by  me  then, 

Whose  anxious  looks  uncertain  mark'd  his  face, 

Nor  could  I  tell,  if  hope  or  joy  or  grief 

Then  most  prevaiPd  within  his  latent  mind; 

He  turn'd  not  from  his  swiftly  hastening  course. 

Yet  as  he  went  half 'tween  a  walk  and  run, 

I  He  said,  "  Gold,  Gold  should  first  by  all  be  bought,'' 

And  in  an  instant  he  was  out  of  sight. 

I  went  within  the  justice  halls  and  lo,     , 

I  saw  the  Bible  kiss'd  by  many  men, 

Betokening,  that  the  certain  truth  should  come 

From  ev'ry  lip  that  preHs'd  the  sacred  leaf; 

But  different  were  the  stories  that  they  told, 

Alone  because  that  two  contenders  sought 

To  gain  alas !  the  same  small  heap  of  Gold, 


f 


tlii 


^K^ 


■ 


:  r.'ii  ;. 


\ 


110 


Amusements. 


1  saw  a  parricide  before  a  crowd; 

The  hangman's  rope  was  brought  upon  the  stand, 

Then  he  was  askM,  what  for  himself  he'd  say ; 

He  bow'd  his  head  with  shame  and  groaning  said: 

"  'Twas  cursed  Gold  alone  that  brought  me  here." 

1  saw  the  battle  field  enrich'd  with  blood, 

By  Christian  neighbors  mutually  shed ; 

The  one  engaged  in  plundering  for  Gold^ 

The  other  striving  to  defend  her  own. 

I've  seen  a  Christian  people  legalize 

The  awful  crime  of  buying  men  to  sell 

Again  to  stern  and  hopeless  slavery, 

To  labor  during  life  unthank'd,  unpaid. 

Save  by  the  cruel  lash  of  scornful  lords. 

And  now  three  million  men,  as  slaves,  are  held, 

£'en  in  our  own  beloved  and  happy  land, 

Whose  countless  tears  and  sighs  to  heaven  rise 

Calling  for  vengeance  from  the  living  God, 

Who  careth  for  the  poor  and  will  avenge 

Himself  upon  all  those,  who  dare  oppress 

His  children  only  for  the  sake  of  Gold. 


AMUSEMENTS. 

When  ease  and  quiet  free  the  mind 
And  work  to  do  we  cannot  find. 
Or  when  our  toilsome  "  task  is  done 
Just  at  the  setting  of  the  sun," 
We  seek  to  fill  the  vacant  space 
By  going  to  a  public  place. 
Where  other  men  are  wont  to  go 
To  hear  a  speech  or  see  a  show 


m 


Ammements,  111 

To  teach  the  mind  or  please  the  eye, 
E'en  as  the  actors  chanced  to  try ;  « 

Or  round  the  social  family  hearth 
With  loved  ones  join'd  in  guiltless  mirth, 
To  read  the  news  of  latest  date, 
The  changing  scenes  of  church  and  state, 
What  man's  committed  heinous  sin, 
What  politician's  like  to  win 
The  office,  he  has  sought  with  zeal    ^ 
For  public  good  or  private  weal 
By  making  speeches  night  and  day 
From  Oregon  to  Casco  bay ; 
What  child  is  bom,  what  man  is  dead ; 
What's  been  denied  and  what's  been  said ; 
What  youth  and  maid  have  sworn  to  love 
Each  other  like  the  turtle-dove, 
And  thus  they  join  young  heart  to  heart. 
Which  they  say  death  alone  can  part ; 
How  husband  has  deserted  wife. 
Each  one  preferring  single  life ; 
With  many  other  curious  things. 
How  birds  have  fins  and  fish  have  wings; 
How  men  describe  the  **  spirit  land," 
While  boys  are  making  ropes  of  sand; 
How  men  are  prophets ;  women,  men. 
To  preach  the  Word  or  wield  the  pen ; 
How  serpents  on  their  tiptoes  walk 
And  oxen  learn  the  way  to  talk ; 
How  children  with  their  linens  on. 
Their  fathers  and  their  mothers,  warn 
The  awful  wrongs  they  teach  and  do. 
Who  never  learn  to  smoke  and  chew. 

Yet  many,  rather  than  peruse 
This  dusty  run  of  city  news, 


I'!' :!!. 


ilivli  P 


V 


m 


Amusements. 


Read  what  the  wise  and  good  have  done, 
Who  teach  that  we  should  hate  and  shun 
The  way  the  wicked  ever  go, 
Which  only  leads  to  death  and  woe. 
While  others  dearly  love  to  pore 
The  poet's  pages  o*er  and  o'er, 
Where  they  can  see  the  human  race 
Standing  before  them  face  to  face ; 
Those  that  beheld  proud  Ilium's  fall 
And  stood  beneath  the  mighty  wall, 
When  Nestor  did  the  Greeks  advise, 
As  terror  hush'd  the  piercing*  cries 
Of  starving  women,  wounded  men, 
That  dwelt  within  great  Troy  then ; 
And  those  that  felt  the  earthquake  shocks, 
That  rent  the  mountains  and  the  rocks 
And  sever'd  ope  the  vail  in  twain. 
When  they,  the  Son  of  God,  had  slain. 

Thus  all  agree  both  young  and  old. 

In  tropic  heat,  or  polar  cold. 

In  poverty  or  kingly  wealth. 

That  for  enjoying  perfect  health 

In  body  and  immortal  mind, 

These  two  extremes  must  be  combined ; 

Let  neither  all  our  passions  rule, 

Nor  yet  th'  ascetic  laws  of  school. 

Which  would  all  harmless  sports  exclude 

As  vulgar  or  at  least  as  rude. 

Nor  deign  to  let  the  young  and  gay 

E'en  think  of  merriment  or  play ; 

Since  joys  of  earth  are  thought  to  be 

The  Devifs  rightful  property, 

Which  tend  to  lead  the  youth  astray. 

Who  thus  forget  to  watch  and  pray. 


i  I 


^^ 


ill!     : 


Amusements. 


113 


With  them  in  part  we  would  agree, 

That  of  all  things,  first,  piety; 

That  piety,  which  maketh  free  - 

From  all  the  ways  of  vanity, 

From  sins  of  earth  and  woes  of  hell, 

To  ev'ry  grief  and  pain  the  knell; 

That  piety  which  giveth  joy 

And  sterling  hliss  without  alloy,    t 

For  perfect  love  admits  not  fear 

To  make  the  path  to  heaven  drear ; 

But  now  his  flock  the  Shepherd  leads       r. 

By  gentle  brooks  and  verdant  meads ; 

Hence  we  would  not  reprove  the  child 

Because  he  laugh'd  or  even  smiled. 

Or  wish  a  long  face  he  would  wear  >  ■■; 

As  if  oppressed  by  age  and  care ;  ;^-  ' 

Nor  wish  that  he  was  deaf  or  blind. 

That  he  might  have  a  purer  mind,  .%   f 

Not  having  heard  revolting  sounds 

Nor  places  seen,  where  sin  abounds; 

Yet  rather  let  his  eye  be  keen 

To  know  the  right  where'er  'tis  seen. 

And  let  his  ears  be  purged  and  clear, 

That  he  the  truth  may  plainly  hear; 

Then  he  among  things  strange  and  new 

Can  quick  discern  the  false  and  true; 

He'll  see  the  wrong  and  that  eschew 

He'll  see  the  right  and  that  pursue. 

Because  some  sports  are  light  and  vain, 
The  certain  roads  to  grief  and  pain, 
This  is  no  reason  to  the  wise. 
Why  they  should  raise  their  hues  and  cries 
Against  amusements  one  and  all, 
From  bull-fights  down  to  playing  ball. 

8 


I     > 


If"  !a 


'I     h 


1      ! 


I' 


114 


^mwemei^. 


m 


The  man  that  would  in  earnest  learn 
The  path  of  virtue  true  and  stern, 
Must  not  condemn  the  good  and  wise 
Because  a  certain  villain  lies ; 
Nor  let's  refuse  our  fathers'  bread 
Because  our  fathers  all  are  dead, 
Nor  yet  their  vices  imitate 
Because  they  linger'd  here  so  late; 
But  let  the  living  touchstone,  Truth, 
Direct  the  aged  and  the  youth 
In  wisely  choosing  what  is  best. 
Condemning  freely  all  the  rest. 

All  fights  of  men  or  beasts  for  sport, 
Such  as  the  books  of  Rome  report 
^Tween  man  and  beast  let  from  a  cage. 
Are  customs  of  a  by-gone  age, 
Which  serve  to  show  how  savage  then 
Were  habits  of  the  mildest  men, 
Whose  pleasure  and  supreme  delight 
Was  to  behold  a  bloody  fight. 

Next  comes  the  stage,  in  Greece  'twas  born 
About  three  thousand  years  agone ; 
There  first  were  seen  dramatic  plays 
On  all  their  sacred  festive  days, 
When  writers  would  their  views  impart, 
Mounted  upon  a  lumber  cart. 
From  place  to  place  by  oxen  haul'd, 
Wherever  they  by  chance  were  call'd. 
The  stage  soon  gain'd  the  public  praise 
Displaying  oft  its  noted  plays, 
Attended  by  the  choral  song 
Which  to  the  subject  should  belong. 
Oft  splendid  buildings  they  would  raise 


w 


Jtmusemenif, 


215 


In  which  to  hear  dramatic  plays^ 
Consisting  partly  now  and  then 
In  praise  or  blame  of  public  men, 
And  soon  so  insolent  became, 
Not  sparing  eVn  the  greatest  name^ 
That  laws  were  passM  to  stop  such  plays; 
Tlius  closed  the  drama  of  those  days* 

Dramatic  plays  appearM  again 

Still  showing  forth  the  leading  men, 

Their  names  were  changed  but  mien  the  same, 

Which  did  identity  proclaim  ^ 

This  custom  also  died  away 

And  then  appear'd  the  modern  play, 

Which  far  excels  the  former  two  i 

In  having  namea  nor  places  true  ^z  ^■^ 

But  fit  alike  for  any  case,      ;^  ^i  *>;    ^' 

At  any  time  or  any  place. 

It  is  a  fact  none  will  deny,  j  <    v        ;  < 

The  drama  '11  not  for  ages  die 

Unless  the  world  shall  change  its  mind 

And  pleasure  not  in  dramas  find ; 

As  in  the  past  there'll  be  refiirm, 

While  fiying  ages  go  and  come, 

And  may  the  day  be  near  at  hand, 

When  all  the  stages  of  our  land 

Shall  as  reformers  gain  the  praise 

Of  all,  who  on  their  scenes  may  gaze, 

That  love  to  have  the  people  know 

The  ways  of  truth  in  which  to  go< 

A  play,  that  truly  shows  a  man      > 
As  art  and  genius  only  can, 
Whose  words  and  look  and  age  agrotf 
With  what  we  hear  and  what  we  86e^ 


'!!  I- 


•«;;:l 


I 


I 


jii: 

m 

t'i: 

i 

«J)- 

sip 

H 

^ 

<!•; 

h', 

H-li 

fi''i 

li-^ 

II--'. 

i^i 

it'tl^ 

V' 

■■•  *J 

i 

^  Ij 

'■i    1 

:M 


116 


Animals  in  Winter, 


1 » J' 


Will  teach  and  please  us,  as  we  view 
And  think  we  see  the  very  true ; 
But  when  old  Adam  reads  a  book, 
Which  from  the  shelf  he  just  now  took 
Or  when  to  mother  Eve  should  speak, 
He  quotes  in  Latin,  French  and  Greek 
And  talks  of  watches,  clocks  and  guns, 
Declares  the  stars  are  mighty  suns. 
We  smile  and  think  the  man,  a  fool 
Or  from  an  idiotic  school. 
Who  makes  old  Adam  such  words  say 
Like  he  had  lived  in  our  own  day. 
Respecting  sports  of  many  kinds, 
That  e>\*ry  one  forever  finds 
In  humble  cot  and  palace  hall      • 
Or  wheresoever  he  may  call;    •  ^  ?? ' 
By  this,  each  one  may  plainly  know, 
What  sports  are  ill  and  what  not  so; 
All  games  that  chance  or  cheating  sway 
The  man  of  virtue  ne'er  should  play. 
While  games  of  skill  and  exercise 
Are  play'd  by  both  the  good  and  wise, 
Since  they  no  better  way  can  find 
To  strengthen  and  refresh  the  mind. 


u 


■15; 


ANIMALS  IN  WINTER. 

Each  valley  and  each  tow'ring  hill 
Is  thickly  overlaid  with  snow, 

While  ev'ry  little  purling  rill 
Along  its  course  forgets  to  flow* 


.v 


Animals  in  Winter. 

The  robin  and  the  whippowil, 
That  used  to  sing  so  merrily, 

With  pleasant  notes  no  longer  fill 
The  orchard  and  the  forest  tree. 

The  hardy  woodcock  and  the  jay   . 

Still  linger  in  the  sylvan  dale      ^   ''' 
^And  with  the  sable  crow  they  stayi 

Unterrified  by  snow  and  hail. 

The  fox  now  sallies  from  the  ledge  '  ' 
To  feast  upon  the  farmer's  fowl, 

Raccoons  now  creep  along  the  hedge 
With  watchful  look  and  dismal  howl. 

-  1: 

The  squirrel  perches  on  a  tree  ^:^  " 
Hard  by  his  narrow  oaken  home,    ^^  ' 

Where  he  the  far  off  sun  may  see  • 
From  which  the  rays  obliquely  come. 


117 


r  t  *    .  -*  • 


The  nimble  rabbit  keeps  his  path 
So  firmly  trod  and  very  glare, 

That  one  may  think  a  workman  hath 
Just  grooved  it  out  with  double  care. 

Though  transitory  birds  have  now     ' 
To  southern  dimes  more  genial  gone, 

Yet  nature  kind  doth  not  allow 
The  race  of  man  to  be  alone. 


VM 


I.,   • 


^ 


•;!' '  I 


:P 


tin 


^}  -!; 


r.  h 


it 


iP 


\... 


118 


MgM. 


f  I   ■ 


NIGHt. 

•.f  ^'-.f  '.■-.J ' 

The  sun  is  ffone  iind  darkness  fills  the  land 
From  inland  mountains  to  the  sea  shore  strand;"^ 
The  weary  laborer  has  left  his  plow 
And  joyous  gone  to  meet  his  loved  ones  now. 
All  noise  is  hush'd,  save  from  the  distant  vale 
The  shrill  notes  of  the  watchful  nightingale, 
That  echo  back  along  the  little  rills 
E'en  to  the  summits  of  the  verdant  hills, 
Or  the  low  murmVing  sounds  of  growing  flow'rs, 
Which  can  be  heard  but  in  nocturnal  hours, 
When  all  the  earth  is  closely  wrapp'd  in  sleep 
And  wandVing  stars  their  constant  vigils  keep. 
The  pale  moon  glides  along  the  azure  skies 
Just  smiling  on  earth  sleepers  as  she  flies, 
And  then  among  the  hosts  of  heav'n  at  night 
She  noiseless  wings  her  never  ending  flight. 
The  anxious  watcher,  o'er  a  cherish'd  friend 
At  midnight's  lonely  hour,  doUi  lowly  bend 
To  whisper  consolation  to  the  ear 
Of  one  so  well-beloved  and  truly  dear* 
Or  now  to  Cfod  the  watcher  turns  in  pray'r, 
Imploring  his  protection  and  his  care 
For  one  who  lies  before  death's  dismal  gate, 
Which  must  be  pass'd  by  all,  or  soon  or  late; 
Then  passing  slowly  drags  away  the  night 
And  long  delay  the  rays  of  morning  light, 
In  vain  expected  by  the  sleepless  eye. 
While  yet  the  stars  so  thickly  stud  the  sky. 
The  ship  pursues  a  steady  onward  track. 


Jfi^ht* 


119 


Though  gloomy  darkness  reigns  than  pitch  more 

black, 
Propelled  not  by  changing  winds  and  tides, 
Of  both  alike  regardless  on  she  rides, 
Nor  now  as  once  dependent  on  the  light 
Of  doubtful  stars  to  point  the  way  by  night, 
But  by  a  )>ower  of  her  own  she  rides. 
While  day  and  nighty  the  faithful  needle  guides. 
At  night  in  Summer  heat,  or  Winter  snow, 
The  light-house  kmtern  constantly  doth  glow 
To  warn  the  stranger  that  he  nears  a  cape 
Or  rocky  island,  which  he  must  escape. 
Along  the  banks  of  river,  pond  and  lake, 
At  night  the  fishermen  their  fires  make 
To  drive  musquitoes  from  their  jolly  nook 
And  light  them  as  they  tend  their  net  or  hook.] 
At  night,  the  time  for  sweet  and  calm  repose, 
The  villain  to  his  work  of  darkness  goes. 
Whether  to  steal  one  from  the  grazing  flock, 
Or  silent  pick  the  well  contrived  lock. 
That  guards  the  treasured  mass  of  shining  ore^ 
Than  life  itself,  by  some  loved  even  more, 
Or  slay  the  dreaming  sleeper  for  the  gold. 
Which  'neath  his  pillow  he  has  sKly  rolled. 
At  night  the  gentle  gales  refresh  the  air 
And  fan  the  wild  beasts  sleeping  in  tbeir  lair; 
While  health  to  man  and  beast  it  doth  insure 
By  bearing  ofT  the  atmosphere  impure. 
Night  is  the  symbol  of  death's  dismal  pall 
Since  each  with  shade  so  still  and  quickly  fall, 
That  when  unconscious  of  our  vital  breath 
We  either  rest  in  sleep,  or  sleep  in  death. 


;;Hi  1, 


k 


••:  1-. 


'1  r%-*af.v-^ ik    •'. 


'•'! 


120 


A  Hymn, 


I 'I 


••) 


■.V.i    > 


A  HYMN.    - 

The  Lord  my  soul  shall  ever  bless 

For  gracious  is  His  name, 
My  tongue  shall  sing  His  holiness,     V 

His  righteous  ways  proclaim. 

The  Lord  observes  the  contrite  heart 
Of  those,  who  watch  and  pray,  • 

Their  feet  He  n%'er  will  let  depart 
Into  the  down  war  "^  way. 

He  guides  His  people  free  from  fear 

Along  by  gentle  streams, 
ReHecting  from  their  bosom  clear 

The  light  of  heaven's  beams. 


..•^•. 


y- 


In  vain  the  Devil  sets  a  snare  j 

In  the  believer's  way,  k  - 

Since  for  His  children  Gfid  will  care  r 

By  night  as  well  as  day.  ,,  < 

■' »  •.  > 
God's  spirit  will  direct  the  meek, 

Where  He  would  have  them  go 
And  those  that  by  repentence  seek,   ; 

Eternal  life  shall  know; 

X  ,.(:..  .'-i  •\  M  .'f    J.:.-'  •      .'f 

While  those,  that  now  salvation  spurn, 

Shall  one  day  be  abased, 
When  in  the  Book  of  Life  they  learn 

Theur  names  have  not  been  placed* 


Defeat  of  Mocib. 


121 


■  ^'J 


-r  I 


.1 


DEFEAT  OP  MOAB. 

Once  in  that  land  that  lies  between 
The  lovely  rivers  twain,  -  ;      -a  ^z 

A  king  as  proud  as  oft  is  seen      ^.  • 
With  cruelty  did  reign. 

His  subjects  with  an  iron  rod, 

He  sternly  then  distressed 
And  since  they  had  forgot  the  Lord 

All  Israel  oppressed. 

For  eighteen  tedious  years- and  long 

They  suffered  as  slaves, 
They  could  not  sing  their  fathers'  song. 

There  many  found  their  graves. 

But  soon  the  evils,  they  had  done, 

Their  open'd  eyes  espied, 
And  with  a  voice  as  of  but  one 

Unto  their  God  they  cried. 

When  they  had  call'd  upon  His  name 
Overwhelmed  by  their  grief, 

He  boundless  mercy  showM  to  them 
And  sent  desired  relief. 

By  raising  up  a  Benjamite, 

Who  used  his  left  hand  > 

To  bring  about  a  noble  deed 

And  free  his  father-land. 


I       ! 


!ii 


Hi 

Ml  n 


m 


<  •■'  ■ 


122  Defeca  of  Modb, 

Unto  the  cruel  heathen  king 
Young  Ehud  boldly  went, 

Feigning  that  ho  did  presents  bring, 
Which  Israel  had  sent. 

A  two-edged  sword  hung  by  his  side, 

A  cubit  long  and  keen, 
Which  by  his  coat  he  plannM  t&  hide. 

So  that  by  none  'twas  seen. 


f  •» 


It  happenM  just  as  he  had  thought: 
To  Eglon  he  came  near        *  -^  »* 

And  when  the  king  took  what  he  brought 
He  whispei'd  in  his  ear : 

"A  secret  great  I  have,  O  king, 

Whbh  I  must  tell  to  thee." 
"  Tell  not,"  said  he, "  the  news  yow  bring, 

But  silent  follow  me." 

Led  he  away  the'Benjaraite 

To  parlor  hal  1  so  gay, 
And  there  in  transport  of  delight 

AskM  what  he  had  to  say. 

Up  rose  the  gallant  patriot, 
His  two-edged  sword  he  drew  *'  * 

And  as  the  secret  be  had  brought,    , 
He  thrust  the  tyrant  through.  '-^ 

Now  then  he  lock'd  the  parlor  door 

On  that  event  All  day, 
Leaving  the  king  upon  the  floor  - 

He  safely  walk'd  away.  ^' 


I    ! 


Lines  on  the  Death  of  a  Child.       133 

The  trumpets  loud  the  people  blew 

And  fought  their  enemies, 
Ten  thousand  Moabites  they  slew 

And  gain'd  their  liberties. 


ri'^*  ;■  ',' i<  ' i' 


■'  \ . .  :•       .-I 


H 


LINES  WRITTEN  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A 

CHILD. 

Where  »s  the  child  of  yesterday?  A 

So  fair  and  blithe  and  gay ; 
I  hear  not  more  his  pealing  ''*ngby 

I  see  him  not  at  play. 

I  view  DO  more  his  lovely  eyci       '*) 
His  little  dimpled  cheek,  ^-^ 

I  hear  no  more  his  gentle  cdl, 
So  pleasing  and  so  meek. 

He's  gone  away  to  his  long  home, 

With  those  like  him  to  dwell, 
'Mid  joys  no  mortal  eye  hath  seen 

And  that  no  tongue  can  telL 

Weep  not  or  seek  to  call  him  back 

To  this  sad  world  of  ours, 
For  now  he  dwells  in  paradise 

In  tLo  celestial  bow'rs. 

The  bud,  that  grows  in  early  Spring 

And  blooms  out  full  in  May, 
Before  the  Summer  rose  appears 

Is  withered  quite  away. 


ii 


5  ' 


124 


i>. 


A  Psalm  of  David. 


So  rega]  Death  call  those  his  own, 

Who  least  expect  to  go, 
And  by  what  rule  he  chooses  them 

Immortals  only  know. 

Let^s  weep  not  for  the  darling  dear, 

Who's  gone  away  to  rest, 
But  hope  that  we  with  him  may  dwell 

In  the  realms  of  the  blest. 

He  needs  no  more  a  mother's  care, 

A  mother's  watchful  eye; 
No  sorrows,  tears,  or  pain  is  there 

Above  the  azure  sky; 

Yet  one  eternal  day  of  peace. 
Free  from  all  grief  and  care,   ■'■-■    ^ 

Attends  upon  all  those  that  dwsU 
With  that  dear  darling  there.        '  • 


;i.: 


A  PSALM  OF  DAVID. 

We'll  praise  the  Lord  of  Heaven 
And  call  upon  His  name,     ,| 

We'll  sing  aloud  His  mercy,    ,    ,vM 
His  holiness  proclaim. 

We'll  sing  a  song  of  glory  ,  i^' 

His  wond'rous  works  extol, 

We'll  seek  His  face  forever  ,  •  r 

And  on  His  name  we'll  call,    i 


A  Psalm  of  David, 

Ye  chosen  seed  of  Jacob, 

The  faithful  Israel,  '•    ^ 

The  Lord  is  God  of  heaven, 
Ye,  children  by  His  wilh 

Remember  well  His  promise — 
Ye  thousand  nations  hear, 

His- covenant  to  Abram, 
His  oath  to  Isaac  dear,      'i  u- 

Though  earth  and  heavens  vanish 

And  scatterM  flee  away. 
That  covenant  remaineth     ';''*./ 
Unto  the  perfect  day. 

He  said,  "  I  give  you  Canaan, 
Soon  to  possess  and  hold,"     ' 

He  asks  not  gleaming  silver 
Nor  weight  of  shining  gold;    ^ 

But  souls  unstain'd  and  humble, 

Obedient  from  love 
/:,?■  welcomed  to  the  mansions 

Of  Canaan's  shore  above. 

When  ye  were  few  and  needy 
And  wandVers  in  the  land. 

Your  weakness  He  supported 
And  held  you  in  His  hand. 

Extol  the  Lord  ye  people 

Ara  let  His  praises  ring —        '  ' 
Salvation  to  the  nations. 

Go  publish  it  and  sing.       ^    / 


125 


f; 


I     [' 


m 


in 


I 
'I 


■1 


>■  -n 


iiavwiiw^^wv  J^a 


i 


i! 
i 

] 
[5  s 


126      lAnes  on  the  Death  of  a  Friend. 

Great  is  the  Lord  of  glory         ,  i 
Before  dumb  idols  all,    \ 

He  made  the  earth  and  heavens 
To  be,  but  by  His  calL   i 


•'ji'., 


LINES  WRIT^ 


GN  THE  DEATH  OP  A 
/RIEND. 


What  makee  so  many  weep  to-day  ? 

So  many  faces  sad? 
Even  the  very  children  cry, 

Who're  wont  to  look  so  glad. 

Why  speaks  each  man  so  slow  and  grave, 
When  he  his  neighbor  meets? 

Why  hold  the  friendly  hand  so  long 
Of  one  he  often  greets? 

Why  do  the  children  stay  at  home^ 
Who  always  run  to  play  ?  ^ . , 

And  why  so  solemn  and  so  stiU|        > 
Just  like  a  Sabbath  day? 

What  means  this  train  so  darkly  clad, 

The  aged  and  the  young? 
What  makes  them  walk  so  slow  along? 

What  fetters  ev'ry  tongue  ? 

A  husband's  gene,  a  father's  gone, 

A  neighbor  is  no  more, 
A  gen'rous,  noble,  Christian  friend^ 

'Tis  he,  wh^m  all  deplore. 


A 
H 

T 

L 


'"I 


A  Prayer.       ^ 

A  lonely  wife  is  leA  in  grief 
To  mourn  lier  bosom  friend; 

Her  love  and  grief  will  never  cease 
Till  earthly  cares  shall  end. 

Three  darling  children  well-beloved 

Are  orphans  lone  to-day, 
Lefl  with  their  fether's  cherish'd  Iriends, 

In  this  cold  world  to  stay. 

From  a  widening  ring  of  friends     ,  -   , 
The  brightest  star's  removed,         < 

To  shine  in  yonder  paradise 
With  Jesus  whom  he  loved. 


127 


A  PRAYER. 

Great  God,  our  heav'nly  Father  kind, 

Do  Thou  accept  this  day 
The  praises  we  would  raise  to  Thee 

And  teach  us  bow  to  pray. 

Grant  us  Thy  grace  in  time  of  need 

To  show  the  narrow  road, 
That  leads  from  sm  to  holiness 

And  points  the  way  to  God. 

We  know  our  crimes  are  manifold 

And  heinous  in  Thv  sight, 
We've  sinn'd  against  high  Heaven's  laws 

In  view  of  Gospel  light. 


% 


I 

m 

m 


u 


% 


i 


128  A  Song  of  Praise. 

We  come  to  Thee,  for  Thou  hast  said, 
"  Why  will  you  die  my  son  ? 

I  have  no  pleasure  in  thy  death 
Though  evil  thou  hast  done." 

In  Jesus'  worthy  name  we  come, 
Who  died  that  we  might  live 

And  gave  His  life  to  ransom  us, 
Which  none  but  He  could  give.  ' 

Teach  us  to  learn  and  well  observe 

All  that  the  Bible  saith, 
That  we  may  live  a  Christian's  life 

And  die  a  Christian's  death. 


A  SONG  OF  PRAISE. 

Can  birds  in  Spring  refuse  to  sing 
And  give  their  Maker  praise. 

While  they  can  see,  from  bush  and  tree, 
The  goodness  of  il:s  ways? 

Can  humble  vines  and  lofly  pines 
Receivo  the  Summer  shower,     '    '■'■ 

And  not  their  praise  of  glory  raise 
In  evening's  silent  hour.'' 

Can  sunny  field  neglect  to  yield 

Its  verdure  ever  green, 
For  Him,  who  gave  the  rills  tliat  lave 

The  lovely  hills  between  ? 


JSTathan  Reproveth  David.  129 

Can  mount  or  vale  accept  the  gale 

Their  guardian  angels  hring, 
And  not  in  song,  both  loud  and  long,  \ 

The  Giver's  praises  sing  ? 

How,  then,  shall  we  in  silence  be 

Before  our  gracious  Lord, 
Who  giveth  all,  both  great  and  small,         ^ 

The  blessings  of  His  Word? 


'.  } 


NATHAN  REPROVETH  DAVID. 

There  lived  a  man  in  ancient  times 

Of  riches  and  of  fame. 
He  reigned  at  Jerusalem,  >    , 

King  David  was  his  name. 

It  fell  upon  a  luckless  day, 

Just  at  the  eventide. 
As  David  walkM  upon  his  house 

A  maiden  he  espied ; 

She  was  a  fair  and  comely  maid 
With  blushing  cheeks  and  red. 

While  o'er  her  shoulders  tresses  flow'd 
And  roses  deck'd  her  head.  ^ 

■  r.  I  ■ 

This  innocent  and  charming  girl 

Was  young  Uriah's  wife. 
Who'd  gone  to  fight  the  Ammonites 

To  save  king  David's  life. 

9 


m 


130  J^aihan  Reproveth  David, 

The  king  beheld,  nor  could  he  calm    ,  , 

His  passion^s  evil  cry, 
Until  a  deed  of  infamy 

Caird  vengeance  from  ou  high. 

He  had  betray'd  a  poor  manV  trust, 

His  home  made  desolate, 
He  had  before  his  Qod  become 

A  wicked  reprobate* 

Since  David  tried  by  artifice 

To  hide  his  crime  in  vain, 
He  told  his  servant  Joab 

Uriah  must  he  slain. 

Now  when  Uriah  had  been  slain, 

King  David  took  the  maid, 
But  God  beheld  his  awful  crime 

And  vengeance  He  repaid* 

The  Lord  His  prophet  Nathan  sent 

To  say  at  David'd  door: 
^  There  dwelt  two  men  within  a  town 

One  rich  the  other  poor. 

**  The  rich  man's  flocks  and  countless  herds 

Fiird  many  a  field  and  stall, 
While  as  the  poor  man's  precious  wealth 

A  pet  lamb  was  his  all; 

'*  This  little  lamb  ate  at  his  board 
And  drank  with  hintr  his  water. 

And  on  his  bosom  eenlly  lay 
Like  it  had  been  his  daughter. 


Lines  on  the  Death  of  Henry  Clay.    131 

"  A  traveler  came  from  afar 

Unto  the  rich  man's  home, 
Who  sparing  all  his  flocks  and  herds 

Did  to  the  poor  man  come, 

*'  And  took  by  force  that  little  lamb 

And  dressM  it  for  his  friend, 
Unmindful  of  the  sorrow,  which 

The  poor  man's  heart  Would  rend." 

King  David's  anger  raged  hot 

Against  the  heartless  one. 
Who,  such  an  awful,  heinous  wroftg, 

Had  to  hns  neighbor  done. 

Then  David  said,  *^  That  knave  shall  die, 

Oh,  name  him  if  you  can!" 
Nathan  replied  unto  the  king, 

"  Thou  art  the  very  man!" 


t>  ^.' 


V,i 


ii 


II 


I 


I 


lii 


LINES  WRITTEN  ON  THE  DEATH  OP 

HENRY  CLAY. 

Sadness  and  sorrow's  on  the  nation's  brow. 
The  Stars  and  Stripes  are  clad  in  mournings  now, 
Millions  in  anguish  and  in  grief  are  bow'd. 
All  tell,  that  death,  the  great  dead,  doth  enshroud. 

The  nation  mourns  a  patriotic  son. 
Who  by  his  virtue,  her  esteem,  has  won. 
The  boldest  in  Truth  and  Freedom's  cause ; 
His  peerless  honor  is  a  world's  applause. 


ii 

n 


132    Lines  on  the  Death  of  Henry  Clay. 

The  friend  of  liberty,  the  wide  world  o'er, 

From  rich  Peru  to  the  Ionian  shore ; 

The  orator  and  chani|>ion  for  Right, 

In  Freedom's  cause,  he  has  fought  his  last  fighi. 

America,  with  reason  thou  canst  mourn ; 
Unto  his  tomb  thy  firmest  friend  is  borne; 
Whose  ever  brilliant  and  undying  fame 
Adds  greater  lustre  to  thine  honor'd  name. 

Long  may  this  patriot's  example  be 
The  ardent  emulation  of  the  free. 
Traitors  and  tyrants  will  stand  in  dismay. 
While  the  world  shall  remember  Henry  Clay. 


i  ■'•t^i  f 


■  '■^  V  •  / ; 


'7-'  =;■'»■ 


lk:.> 


■alU'1*->»>.'J*'<.  1- 


V'-!"' i»  ■■;i"''<     'j^  <■"■<'      '/■'<i    V'.'  ' 


.'  --5    J*  ',; 


>.-* 


y'r ,  . 


-'  f 


»•»:   .  -  \<    i.    »--■•■.    f' 


^.  >' 


•'  x  »  % 


'I 


NOTES. 


Pages,  lines. 

jind  what  the  Major  said^  to  do  forthwith. 

Major  Richard  Waldron  was  slain  hy  the  Penacooks* 
June  27th,  1689.  His  illustrious  exploits  in  the  severa* 
Indian  wars,  during  the  settlement  of  New  Hampshire » 
have  rendered  his  name  immortal,  as  a  bold  and  intrepid 
warrior ;  yet  the  treacherous  deed  which  is  the  subject  of 
this  poem,  not  only  cost  him  his  life,  but,  will  ever  re- 
main an  indelible  stigma  on  his  else  fair  faine. 

Page  7,  line  17. 

Long  ere  the  dauntless  Hudson^  ^c. 

Henry  Hudson,  when  in  quest  of  a  north-west  passage 
to  India,  while  sailing  along  the  coast  of  North  America, 
chanced  to  run  into  the  Maimattan  river,  which  was  after- 
wards called  by  his  name. 

...,    :      ^    ^  .  o.ra....  .    -    ^.      ; 

Page  12,  Ime  28. 

The  stern  jSbenaqui  urge  on  their  flight. 

The  Abenaqui,  also  called  Saint  Francis  Indians,  dwelt 
in  Canada.  ^        r 

.     ,  Page  21,  line  16.  ^  " 

i         M  the  pass  ThermopyUe,  « 

The  pass  of  Thermopyl»  (^Oate  of  warm  springs,)  is  ft 
narrow  strait,  between  mount  (Eta  and  tho  sea,  leading 
from  Thessaly  into  Greece. 


i 


134 


J^ctes. 


I 


■'■;. 


Page  31,  line  17. 

LctmidaB  had  musteredf  S^e, 

Leonidas,  son  of  Anaxandrides^  and  descendant  of 
Hercules,  was  king  of  the  Spartans. 

Page  Sd,  line  3. 

Jind  on  the  boM  immortal  troopt^  ^c. 

These  troops  were  called  "  immortal,"  because  their 
number  was  always  the  same.  When  one  of  them  fell, 
his  place  was  immediately  supplied  by  a  man  chosen 
from  the  other  forces. 

Page  23,  line  14.  '      : 

{Epialles  was  hia  name.) 

This  Epialtes,  or  Ephialtes,  was  induced  to  betray  the 
Spartans  DY  the  hope  of  great  reward  from  Xerxes.  He, 
however,  irom  fear  fled  into  Thessalv,  and  thence  to 
Anticyra;  after  which  a  bounty  was  offered  for  his  head, 
and  he  was  killed  by  Athenades,  a  Trachinian. 

Page  24,  line  10. 

Not  a  Spartan  toul  was  there,    . 

The  three  hundred  were  all  slain  except  one.  The 
Greeks  erected  a  monument  to  commemorate  this  famous 
battle,  on  which  were  inscribed  these  words :  "  Stranger, 
go  tell  the  Lacedaemonians,  that  we  lie  here  in  obedience 
to  their  commands."  The  law,  referred  to,  allowed  no 
Spartan  warrior  to  retreat—he  must  conquer  or  die. 

Page  42,  line  23. 

Yet  now  and  then  like  **  Bristol  BtW," 
We f  a  city  poser,  find. 

This  notorious  burglar,  after  having  committed  the 
most  daring  robberies  In  many  of  the  cities  of  the  United 
States  and  in  London,  went  to  Vermont,  where  he  was 
arrested,  convicted  or  burglary^  and  sent  to  Windsor 
prison,  in  which  he  still  remains. 


Jfotet. 


136 


Page  46,  line  16. 

Nor  have  the  nteede  of  Heliut 
A  moment  to  demur. 

Helins,  in  Greek  mythology,  was  the  god  of  the  stm. 

Page  46,  line  21. 
The  Contoocook  is  a  small  river  in  New  Hampshire. 

Page  66,  line  6. 

Some  say  he*8  bom  in  Scotia, 

Dempster  says,  St.  Patrick  was  born  in  Sootia  Minor, 
now  called  Scotland. 

Page  66,  line  7. 

While  others  say  at  Nutria. 

rrobus  states,  that  his  birthplace  was  Nntria,  a  district 
of  England,  supposed  to  have  been  the  abode  of  giants. 

Page  66,  line  8. 

Or  in  Rosina  gkn, 

Camden  points  out  the  very  place  of  his  nativity,  near 
a  promontonr  in  a  glen  called  Rosevale  or  Eosina,  im- 
porting, a  vale  qf  roses. 


Page  66,  line  9. 
Some  at  Kirkpatrick  say  he's  horn. 


>.-> 


Usher  names  the  very  spot  where  he  was  bom,  at  a 
place  called  Kilpatrick  or  Kirkpatrick,  between  the  castle 
of  Dunbarton  and  the  city  of  Glasgow. 

Page  66,  line  10. 

Or  Pendod:  near  the  tide. 

Pendac,  or  Pepidiauc,  is  situated  in  Pembrokeshire, 
Wales,  and  is  now  denominated  Menavia  or  St.  David's 
Head. 


!>.. 


i 


[  • 


136 


JSTotes, 


Page  66,  line  12. 

But  others  say  with  confidence  ^ 
Tabernia  on  tfie  Clyde, 

Tabemia  u^notes  a  shed  or  station,  it  wi^  situated  on 
the  Clyde,  a  river  of  Scotland. 

Page  66,  line  17. 

Jit  lovely  TourSf  SfC. 

Saint  Fiech,  Bishop  of  Sletty  writes  : 
wenair  Patraic  i  nem  Thur, 
Asseadh  ad  fet  hi  scelaibh. 
Translated  thus  :  Patrick  was  born  at  heavenly  Tours, 
as  it  is  ascertained  in  histories.    This  is  believed  to  be 
the  correct  version  by  the  most  credible  historians. 
Gaul  is  the  ancient  name  of  Prance. 

Page  66,  line  24. 

O'Sullivan  says  Soucli,  in  old  French,  signifies  truncuSf 
a  stock  of  a  tree,  and  that  Souchet  is  trunculuSf  a  little 
stock. 

Page  68,  line  19. 

Who  dwelt  in  Caledonia  ^  S^c. 

Caledonia,  the  ancient  name  of  Scotland,  is  separated 
from  Ireland  by  the  North  Channel. 

Page  69,  line  15. 

■  ^nd  in  that  weeping  captive  hand 
The  lad  Souchet  had  come. 

St.  Patrick  was  of  Roman  origin,  as  his  father's  name, 
Calphumius,  plainly  shows,  ana  since  Niall  was  pursuing 
the  Romans,  he  was  more  desirous  to  take  captives  of 
that  race. 

Page  73,  line  22.  ^ 

In  the  Turonian  sea,    ' 

Tha  Turonian  sea  was  the  ancient  name  of  a  part  of 
the  Mediterranean. 


JVotes. 


137 


i 


Page  76,  line  5. 

In  vain  did  cruel  Nathi  rage. 

Nathi  was  the  son  of  Garchon,  king  of  Leinster,  d 
province  of  Ireland.  ... 

Page  76,  line  13. 

But  when  he  came  to  Rath-IribheTy  SfC, 

Rath-Inbher,  in  Irish,  signifies  a  castle  seated  on  the 
mouth  of  a  river. 

Page  76,  line  26. 

Dichu  in  silence  stood, 

Dichu  was  the  son  of  Trichem,  king  of  the  province  of 
Ulster. 

Page  77,  line  21.  * 

But  when  his  master  Milcho  heard,  S^c. 

Milcho,  the  former  master  of  St.  Patrick,  was  prince 
of  Dalaradia. 

Pago  78,  line  10. 

As  far  as  the  Bregian  plain.  ?  . : 

Bregia,  or  Mac-Bregh,  a  spacious  pkin  extending  many 
Viles  about  Tarah,  was  the  residence  of  the  monarch. 

Page  80,  line  9. 

From  thence  he  came  to  Taken  mount. 

Talten  is  a  mountain  in  Meath.  Here  gymnastic  exer- 
cises, instituted  by  Lugeidh-lam-fadah,  twelfth  king  of 
Ireland,  were  celebrated,  like  the  Olympic  games  in 
Greece. 


Page  89,  line  9. 

But  since  the  immortal  Kane  has  been,  SfC. 

Elisha  Kent  Kane,  the  commander  of  the  Grinnell  ex- 
pedition in  search  of  Sir  John  Franklin. 


k 


1 

i 


1 1 


);  ,"■■■, 


138 


Motes. 


h 


Page  94. 

John  Cummings  was  a  resident  of  the  city  of  Albany 
at  the  time  of  tlie  traiisaotion  described,  which  toofc 
place  in  the  Autumn  of  1866,  in  Betblehem,  /.Ibany 
county,  N.  Y. 

Page  96,  Ime  21. 

John  taid  as  he  beheld  the  man,  4*^. 

The  man  referred  to  is  Frederick  Stumpf,  mentioned 
in  the  eighth  stanza. 

Page  97,  line  9. 

The  Gwemordid  save  the  boy,  ifC. 

This  humane  and  just  interference  of  the  Execu'dye 
was  promoted,  if  not  brought  about,  by  the  philanthropic 
exertions  of  Hon.  John  I.  Slingerland  and  others. 

Page  99,  line  20. 
He  woutd  depart ''  to  Romey 
A  phrase  signifying  to  kiss  every  girl  pres^it. 

Page  100. 

"  I  know  not,**  says  George  Bancroft,  in  his  History  of 
the  United  States,  page  206,  vol.  iv,  "  if  the  asinahof  the 
human  race  keep  the  record  of  sorrows  so  wantonly  in- 
flicted, so  bitter  and  so  perrenial,  asfell  upon  the  French 
inhabitants  of  Acadia.  *  We  have  been  true,'  they  said 
of  themselves,  *  to  our  religion,  and  true  to  ourselves ; 
yet  nature  appears  to  consiaer  us  only  as  the  objects  of 
public  vengeance.'  The  hand  of  the  English  official 
seemed  under  a  spell  with  regard  to  them;  and  was 
never  uplifted  but  to  curse  them," 

Acadia  was  the  name  given  by  the  French  to  the 
peninsula  now  called  Nova  Scotia. 

Page  101,  line  29. 

At  length  war  closed,  which  was  a  dismal  kneU        -^ 
To  fair  Acadia,  that  to  Of  eat  Britain  fell. 

The  treaty  of  U^echt  conceded  Acadia  to  Great  Britain. 


'r>»  . 


Jfotes. 


139 


Page  106,  line  5. 

Children  from  parents  far  away  were  left. 
While  friends  were  long  of  dearest  friends  bereft. 

Lest  it  should  seem  to  the  reader  incredible,  that  such 
barbarous  atrocities  were  committed  b^  an  enlightened 
and  professed  Christian  nation,  but  little  more  than  a 
century  ago,  I  will  again  quote  the  words  of  Bancroft : 
"  Seven  thousand  of  these  banished  people  were  driven 
on  board  ships,  and  scattered  among  the  English  colonies, 
from  New  Hampshire  to  Georgia.  *  *  ♦  *  House- 
holds^ too,  were  separated ;  the  colonial  newspapers 
contained  advertisements  of  members  of  families  seeking 
their  companions,  of  sons  anxious  to  reach  and  relieve 
their  parents,  of  mothers  mourning  for  their  children." 

Page  121,  line  1." 

Once  in  that  land  that  lies  between 
The  lovely  rivers  twain. 

The  rivers  referred  to  are  Zered  and  Amon,  liicli  flow 
into  the  sea  of  Galilee  at  the  extremities  of  iuc  land  of 
Moab,  in  Syria. 


